


Genesis

by kalena



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 58,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalena/pseuds/kalena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning, Ray Kowalski meets Benton Fraser, geologist and volcano cowboy, in Hawaii. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Genesis

 

The heart can be filled anywhere on earth. -- Bill Holm

  


  
 **I: Hawaii**  


That was one big fucking hole in the ground.

And considering he was already standing in the biggest hole he'd ever seen, that was saying a lot. He  
looked up and around at the top of the black hole he was standing in. He had to turn all the way around to  
see all the edges. Yup, still there.

Ray took another hit off the pint of gin -- feel the burn, baby -- and peered down into the hole. It  
wasn't hard to see detail, even in his current state. That's how big it was. There was scummy gray smoke  
straggling up over the edge of one side. That had to be the fire pit, like it said on the picture at the overlook,  
way the hell up there on the rim of this hellhole. The fire pit did not mess around.

That's what it's gonna be like, he thought, some time way in the future, déjà vu all over again -- except  
then he'd be dead. Smell like dirty socks (okay, really dirty socks) burning the little hairs right out of his  
nose, and way way down there at the bottom, a glop of hot rocks. He knew it was there, that glop, even  
though he really couldn't see it, even when he squinted; man, it was smokin'. Bubbly and stinky and red all  
over. Who'da thunk he'd have to come to Hawaii to smell a smell worse than a precinct locker room?

Jeez, it sure took a lot of gin before it started to taste good.

For some reason, it kind of tasted like this place smelled. He blinked the smoke out of his eyes and  
checked the level in the bottle. There was still plenty left, almost half the pint. And even though what he  
drank wasn't much, it packed a wallop. Should've known enough to bring some water along; he'd hiked  
most of the afternoon. Once he got dehydrated, a few shots of gin had him loopy.

He was on a mission. That was the one good thing from trying to pick up that hot chick last night,  
before she blew him off for some steroid surf bum. From her, he found out about the hole in the ground.

"If you see an old woman, and you do her a favor, she'll grant you good fortune," Leilani with the big  
brown eyes informed him. "It's Pele. She's the volcano goddess. She lives in Halemaumau. Sometimes she  
appears as an old hag, sometimes as a beautiful young woman."

"Like you?" He tried out his most babe-killer smile. It didn't seem to win him any points. And, "Why  
did they name her after a soccer player, anyway?" Which got him a dirty look -- he should have known  
better, no dissin' the goddess in this crowd -- and within minutes she'd answered a hail from across the  
room. Well, there were lots of fish in the sea. Or so he heard.

After the year he had, he could really use somebody granting good fortune, so here he was with the  
trade goods. He swallowed another slug of juniper juice. Might as well get something good out of the trip  
he'd been stuck with. He'd never intended to go alone, and so far it wasn't that much fun. He'd better get  
going if he wanted any good luck, or all the gin would be gone. The huge tour buses that looked like specks  
from the top of the crater were gone now, leaving only him and somebody's empty Jeep as far as the eye  
could see. Around here, the eye could see pretty far.

Down the fence line, he could see blaze orange construction-site plastic flapping in the wind. It was  
the only color in the whole place. There was the fine gray mist falling on him and the darker gray clouds  
that only looked like they were falling on him, plus don't forget the charcoal gray of everything made out of  
rocks, which was, yeah, everything, but gray wasn't really a color. Even the old Jeep way over at the far end  
of the parking lot was painted primer gray. It was like being on the moon.

He tucked the gin bottle into the inside pocket of his jacket and wrapped a hand around one of the slats  
of the fence. What a rickety piece of junk. Jesus, the national parks had even less money than he ever  
thought. What the hell were they doing, putting a chicken-wire and wood slat fence around this death trap?  
Didn't they know any determined tourist could get over this thing in a minute?

Or ten.

Maybe.

It was the wimpiness of the fence that was the problem, that and the goddamned slivers. He didn't  
want to break the fence down; he wasn't here for wholesale destruction of property, he just wanted over.  
Finally he managed to scramble up -- swaying sickeningly in the breeze right along with the whole fence --  
and drop over the other side without spiking himself in the gut. He landed, whap! flat on his face, the wind  
knocked out of him. Already there were bruises waking up on his ribs, one big one in the shape of a pint  
bottle.

Man, that fucking hurt. At least the bottle didn't break. No way he wanted to bleed out in this  
godforsaken place. Or maybe it was goddess-forsaken. He hoped not. He groaned as he sat up, gingerly  
poking at his chin. Shake it off, he told himself. With all the gray it looked like dark was coming sooner  
instead of later. Walking back up there in the dark was going to be a bitch.

 

Limping a little, he made it over to the edge. The smoke rolling out made his eyes water as his lungs  
got black. Pulling out the bottle and twisting off the cap, he felt like he ought to be talking some kind of  
mumbo-jumbo as he poured out what was left of the booze. There, that was all she wrote. Maybe that  
would change his luck. Maybe he'd turn around and find a beautiful brunette with flashing eyes to do a  
good deed for, like that chick said.

Turn around, yeah, he had to do that anyway, and in that split second he knew that his luck had  
changed, all right. Because he was going down, the solid rock under his feet crumbling to dust, and he was  
sliding right with it. Falling chunks rattled to the bottom. So did the bouncing bottle, loud clunks over the  
hissing of the steam and sulfur. Follow the bouncing bottle.

Shit, he'd never followed instructions before. Didn't even read 'em.

It was true what they said. When you looked death in the eye, time stopped. He had plenty of it now --  
time to twist his body, time to grab at the dirt, time to kick the wall for a foothold. Plenty of time to think  
about what was waiting for him down there. Time to reach up for one last handful of dirt, one last wave  
goodbye.

When he felt the bones of his hand grind painfully against each other, he held on as hard as he could.  
Not his time, not today. Relief left him empty. Whoever was on the other end of his hand heaved him up  
with a grunt.

Boots. There was a pair of worn-looking field boots in his face. Whoever was still holding his hand  
had practical taste in footwear. And was really, really pissed. Ray couldn't see anything but the boots, but  
he could feel 'pissed off' coming off the guy in waves. Not to mention that what with the angle, his shoulder  
was starting to ache. He might as well get up and face the music; this was the most boneheaded stunt he'd  
pulled in a while.

Bracing himself against the hand, he managed to get mostly standing.

Sure as hell, the guy in front of him was furious. He was almost choking on it. He started sputtering as  
soon as Ray's face was in range, gasping out words.

"You . . . That was so . . . stupid . . . You -- don't you know . . ." Blue eyes glowed almost eerily with  
color in the gray face. He could tell how hard it was for the guy to hold back, and wondered why he was  
bothering. Wasn't like he didn't deserve it -- the other guy could have gone in right after him. Then  
something strange happened. The anger seemed to drain away off the fine lines around his eyes, leaving  
him puzzled-looking. Tired. But he kept talking anyway, like his mouth was moving by itself, no mouth-  
brain connection. Ray knew all about that. ". . . you could have . . . died."

Ray looked at the ground. "Yeah . . . thanks. Thanks for saving my life." When he looked up again, the  
man was still staring at him, kind of confused-like, still holding his hand.

"Wassamatter, never seen a drunk tourist before?" Ray could've kicked himself. Way to be a jerk. That  
was no way to treat somebody who just pulled him out of the smoking asshole of the universe.

The guy, on closer inspection -- now that there was a little more color in his face -- oughta be hawking  
PearlWhite toothpaste on tv, not standing here on the moon. He had a soft rumbly voice to go with the soft  
confused look in his eyes.

"While I'm sure Pele appreciates the gin, virgin sacrifice to the volcano is apocryphal." He seemed to  
finally realize he was still holding Ray's hand, and dropped it.

Ray winced at the twinge in his shoulder. "That's, uh, that's probably okay. 'Cause, y'know, I lost my  
virginity." He looked the dark-haired guy up and down. Some gin-infested impulse made him say, "You  
seen it anyplace?" He could feel his face smile, real slow. And damned if the man didn't turn just a little  
pink. He watched, fascinated, as color feathered itself over Pearly's cheekbones.

That was so cool! God, he'd been a cop so long he'd forgotten there really were innocent people in the  
world. Between the cops and the perps, everybody was so damned hard that you just . . . forgot. Even his  
wife -- ex-wife. Hell, Stella would go toe to toe with anybody. She did it for a living. Pound for pound, she  
was tougher than any perp. Wouldn't want to surprise her in a dark alley. He'd taught her how to box  
himself.

But this guy was different. Somehow he made Ray want to go soft right back. Christ, time to sober up  
before he started slobbering all over. When he got home, maybe he should get a puppy.

Tall, Dark And Embarrassed broke in on his thoughts. "Surely your home isn't that messy," he said, a  
little smile looking out from the corner of his mouth. Man, definitely commercials. Ray would buy  
anything he was selling. Dude must have lots of surreal conversations with banzai tourists to be so calm.

"No, but I think I lost it a long time ago, in a Corvair." The sentence trailed off as the adrenaline  
zoomed him. He wondered how humiliated he'd be if the advertisement for clean living there had to pick  
him up off the ground again, and then wondered if he'd have a choice.

"Speaking of cars, I suggest you give me your keys." That could be the guy's real voice, brisk and no-  
nonsense.

"No," he whispered. No car, no problem, he wanted to say, but he was shaking all over and could  
barely talk. His eyes were starting to go blurry. Obviously Pearly wasn't thinking too straight, either. Where  
would he hide his car around here, if he had one?

"You're hardly in any condition to drive." Exasperated. Worried.

He'd heard that tone too many times -- usually in his living room. His and Stella's. It brought out the  
devil in him, what was left after his latest adventure anyway. "Try me." Most likely he'd live to regret  
pushing so hard into Mr. Teeth's personal space, right up into his face, but jeez, he was alive, wasn't he? So  
he did it anyway. It felt surprisingly good.

The guy was behind him so fast he didn't see the dust.

That hand in his jeans pocket kind of freaked him out. So did the forearm around his throat, but all of a  
sudden it felt so good he just didn't care, kind of sturdy and friendly and the guy was nice to lean on . . . He  
was reaching for the hand as he rested against that broad chest, just going with the gin-soaked flow. It'd  
been a long time since anybody had touched him, even given him a hug, holy fuck, what was he doing?

He starched like a shirt. Pearly brittled behind him just the way Stella did when he gave her the last  
goodbye kiss. The arm fell down like it broke off, and he swore there was a noise, the hand came out of his  
pocket so fast. It probably left skin. It sure as hell left his keys.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." He sounded a little choked up, still close enough for Ray to feel his warmth. It was  
nice. The mist was falling heavier now and he was getting cold all over. "I shouldn't have done that. There  
was no excuse."

She'd never apologized, though, not out loud. For anything.

"No big deal." He only did it to see if he could wind the guy up anyway, and it was kind of fun to  
know he could still do shit like that. "Now that I've had your hand in my pants, can we get introduced?"

That didn't come out quite right. Ray was still cold and getting colder, but the shaking had subsided.

"Pardon me for not offering my name sooner." Stiff as a board and twice as knotted up. "I'm Ben  
Fraser, currently with the Hawaiian Volcanoes Observatory." Already Ray wanted the kinder, gentler guy  
back. The leanable one.

It was going to be really, really tough to get 'Pearly' out of his head, but he had to admit that 'Ben' fit  
better. He stuck out his hand, glad to be able to suck up some more of that warmth. Ben was a human  
radiator. "Ray Kowalski, formerly Ray Vecchio, detective first grade, Chicago P.D., formerly Ormond  
Keys, high-roller and all-around card-shark, Houston, Texas. Formerly Harold Lukin, Joseph "Slow Joe"  
Macchiato, Barry Spears, oh, yeah, and way before that I was Henry Higgins."

Ben blinked at that one, but he held out his hand anyway. "Are you an actor, Ray?"

"Yeah, close enough."

The guy looked carefully at him, trying to figure that one out, and evidently he gave it up as a bad job.  
Must have noticed Ray shivering, too. "Why don't we continue this conversation in my Jeep? I can see now  
that wherever your car is, it's not here. I apologize again for attempting to confiscate your keys."

"You some kind of park ranger?"

"No, I'm a geologist. With my team, I'm currently under the auspices of the Hawaii Institute of  
Geophysics and Planetology and the National Science Foundation. We're doing research to understand the  
structure and emplacement of basaltic lava flows and their igneous petrogenesis -- how, why and where  
they are emplaced."

Ray was forced to divide his attention between Pearly Ben and the ground under his feet, which given  
where he was could have been actually moving, or else it was the gin sloshing around. It seemed like the  
bumpy spots were getting bigger and pointier and the flat spots were getting slipperier.

"It's an area of research that's quite fieldwork-intensive. I measure temperatures on the new flows, map  
them, compare the modern to the older flows -- but all that really doesn't need exploring at this juncture."

"Rock hound."

"In short, yes."

Ray managed to reach the truck without falling on his ass. It was close, though. Ben Fraser didn't  
come around to unlock his door. He waited, leaning tiredly against the Jeep, for an open door.

"It's not locked."

"Oh."

He fought the creaky door open and fell in with a thump when his legs couldn't hold him anymore. His  
rescuer cranked on the heat, thank God. A working car heater was the last thing he thought would come in  
handy on this trip. He leaned against the window and held his hands in front of the passenger-side vent. His  
head was starting to ache. The Jeep was loud and growly and the tranny was slipping a little, plus one of the  
plugs was crapped out.

"P -- Ben, your engine is missing."

The man looked at him like his brain was missing. Maybe it was. Tomorrow, he'd check. For now, he  
just wanted to go home. Go someplace.

"I beg your pardon?" That raised eyebrow gave him the big clue. Obviously, the engine was there last  
time Ben looked under the hood. Rock people were not car people, or at least Ben Fraser wasn't a car  
people.

"You got a bad -- never mind. You need a tune-up." Ray rubbed his temples. A minute ago, it was  
light; now it was dark. Around here, when darkness fell, you heard it bang. The only thing visible in the  
lights of the Jeep was drizzly rain, still gray.

Ben ignored him, more or less. "You're cold and dehydrated, I suspect. We should get you wherever  
you're going. Oh . . . where are you going? To begin with, where is your car?"

"It's up in the parking lot."

"You hiked all the way down? It's under four miles, but it can take up to five hours to hike it! No  
wonder you didn't have time to get back up before nightfall."

"It looked easier than it was," Ray admitted.

"Where are you staying?"

"My hotel is in Waka . . . Waco . . . "

"Waikoloa. Oh, dear. That's quite a long way to drive . . . " He didn't say, "in your condition," but Ray  
heard it. "It could easily take over two hours. I'd hate to see you drive all that way in the dark on these  
unfamiliar roads. They can be treacherous in the rain."

As beat as Ray was, he still had to say something to that. "I can do it. No problem."

Then, to his own surprise, he caved. "Unless you got a better idea. Maybe a cheap motel around here  
someplace?" Getting inside four walls sounded really good right now. Somewhere he could peel his cold  
wet sticky clothes off like a dirty bandaid and pull up a blanket.

Ben's smile looked warm even in the sickly green glow of the instrument panel. "There aren't really  
any inexpensive lodgings up here on the mountain, and I believe Volcano House is full. Perhaps you would  
like to share my home. I rent a small cabin nearby."

It was tempting, but . . . "Hey, you already saved me once today. Maybe you shouldn't make it a habit.  
I already owe you more than I can pay back." As an afterthought, he added, "Believe me, that's probably a  
good thing."

"You could buy me breakfast tomorrow. I'm a poor cook."

Oh, Ben Fraser, what big eyes you have, thought Ray. Do you always pick up ratty drunk tourists,  
save their lives, and take them home? He was being way too suspicious. After all, one lone lost guy almost  
biting the black hole probably didn't happen much. Most people in this place came in pairs. It was the  
freakin' Noah's Ark of tourism. And, yeah, it was a cliché, but he couldn't help thinking that the man didn't  
look like a serial killer. Always the quiet ones . . .

"Really," Ben continued, "I'd enjoy your company. I've never had a guest in my lodgings." The guy  
really did look kind of . . . hopeful. "It's a Hawaiian prerogative. Hospitality, I mean. If you turn me down,  
no doubt you'll be risking the wrath of the local deities."

Ray did a double-take as it hit home. Ben was lonesome. Now, there was a twist. All those good looks  
and the man didn't have anybody to talk to. All this time, he'd thought it was just whack-jobs like him who  
ended up this way. What the hell, he needed a place to get dry, and he could sure give a little payback with  
some human contact, if that was what Ben needed.

"You're jackin' me, Ben Fraser. I know all about pierogies." Ray pulled out that smug-bastard look that  
just grated on people; everybody told him so often enough. "They're Polish, not Hawaiian. Pineapples are  
Hawaiian." He tried not to, but couldn't help laughing at the dumbfounded expression he could see in the  
light from the dashboard. Laughing made his ribs hurt.

Ray felt like a wreck; hell, he knew he looked like a wreck. He was covered in what started out dirt  
that was now mud, his jeans were torn, hands scraped bloody, and he felt like he'd been pulled through a  
knothole. Ben Fraser's khakis and button-down were neat and clean; his hair wasn't even messed up. Jeez,  
how'd the guy do it? "But since I can't afford to ruin my karma, I'll take that pierogie and raise you one."

"That made absolutely no sense, Ray." That rich rumbly voice sounded curiously happy, anyhow.

"You'll get used to it." Not even bothering to wonder why he said that, Ray leaned back against the  
window and dozed for the rest of the drive, despite the disgusting way his clammy underwear was stuck up  
the crack of his ass.

 

It was a tiny little cabin, really dark -- hell, in this place dark was really dark just about everywhere.  
Inside was no different. And before he could see anything else, he was flat on his back. His head bashed  
against the floor so hard there were stars just like on a clear night when you could see forever.

Then there was something on top of him -- something big and heavy and -- and it had claws! Holy  
Christ! Claws digging deep into his chest, tear his heart out -- he couldn't breathe, crushing him, did this  
guy have one of the local demonities, keep it in the house? Worse than serial killing, it was gonna eat him,  
like Easter -- always start with the ears --

"Get it off, it's tasting me!" He already started promising to never do anything bad again when he  
heard scolding coming from right over his head, along with the closer-to-the-jugular slurping noises.

"Diefenbaker! Remove yourself from our guest!"

"Shit, Ben," he gasped weakly, propped up on his elbows trying to get a lungful, "What the hell was  
that?"

"I do apologize for Diefenbaker's behavior. He can be quite affectionate with strangers."

"That was affectionate?" Pets and owners acted like each other after a while, he read somewhere.  
Dazedly he wondered whether Ben was, too. With strangers.

When Ben lit the kerosene lamp, Deefoozis materialized into a dog. A big fluffy white dog, to be  
exact, who was still snuffling joyously around him. He tried to scootch away without looking like he was.

"No electricity?" With light, he could see the place was more like a shack then a cabin. Home sweet  
hole-in-the-wall. The walls weren't even finished on the inside, but there at least was a bathroom, so  
running water. The heat, whatever Ben needed in a place where bitter cold was fifty degrees, must come  
from the wood stove in the corner. Where the wood came from was a whole other question. There were  
trees all around the shack like at the start of the trail he'd taken this afternoon, but a lot of them were those  
ferny-looking ones. Big-ass feathery things, they looked like they climbed out of the primordial ooze.

"There is electricity, but I like the lamp. It reminds me of home." Ben, crouching, threw a few hunks  
of wood in the stove and torched it up.

"Oh, yeah? Where'd you grow up, Outer Slobovia?"

"In a manner of speaking." Done poking at the fire, he went to the refrigerator and pulled out a quart  
container of water, tossing it to Ray, and taking one for himself. "Here, cold water absorbs into the gastric  
system faster." He went over to a big box and rummaged thorough it, coming up with two pair of sweats  
and a sweatshirt. No closets in this place. "The shower is in there. I'm sure you'll want to get clean and dry  
as soon as possible." He handed off one pair of the sweats and the sweatshirt. Then he leaned his head back  
and chugged down half his quart of water while Ray stared stupidly.

The lantern light caught on droplets of water that ran down the line of Ben's neck.

He must've cracked his noggin harder than he thought.

Shaking it off, he stepped into the shower and cranked on the hot water. Man, that felt good. He let it  
sluice down his shivers and wash them away. About three months after Stella dumped him, when he came  
out of Stel-La-La Land, the place where he'd never looked at another woman and stripped her down in his  
head, he woke up. All of a sudden he was surrounded by bodies. Sexy bodies. Some were bodies he never  
in a million years would have thought of as sexy, that looked pretty good now.

Bodies were sometimes so close he could have just reached out and touched someone. Bodies at work,  
bodies on the street, on escalators and in restaurants and sometimes pressed right up against him. Too  
much, and not any really, because he never did learn how to get any back then, and he still didn't know how  
now. It was like being sucked into a time machine -- all the years between 16 and 34 never happened, and  
he was right back in the same place. Teenage lust mixed with grownup loneliness, and sucked was sure the  
right word.

This time around, it was all shapes and sizes, didn't matter. A white smile, a hair toss, a jiggle, a sniff  
of perfume -- anything like that said S-E-X in big neon letters. The weird part was, he saw guys too. Felt  
them. Noticed them near his space, could feel their body heat, see the way they moved. It was . . . different.  
He'd always been an ass man; he was just now realizing everybody had one.

That was strange. Of course, he couldn't quite imagine bumping dicks when he pulled somebody up  
for a cuddle, so that was right out, but he was having a pretty odd reaction to Ben. Must be all the  
excitement. He towelled off, glad to be dry and warm. Cold and wet was miserable even in tropical  
paradise. The water he'd drunk had that funky wine hangover effect -- made him feel a little loopy again,  
just when he was sobering up. He decided it wasn't so bad.

When he came out of the bathroom, Ben Fraser was sitting reading at the main piece of real furniture  
in the room, the kitchen table, but there was only one chair. Now that was Spartan. Okay, there was another  
piece of furniture, and luxurious, too, compared to the rest of the house. Hovel. There was a double bed in  
the corner, with a patchwork quilt, like his mom and her buddies used to make, only this one was mostly  
red. It had what looked like the Union Jack on it. That and the lamplight and the fluffy dog snoring in the  
warmth from the fire and the deep, deep quiet made the cabin feel peaceful, like . . . home. Nevermind that  
he'd never been any place like this before.

He nudged the quilt over so he wouldn't wreck it, and sat down on the bed, just leaning against the  
wall, soaking up the snores and silence in between. Ben looked up with a small smile, half of his face lit  
gold from the lantern, the other half shadowed.

Should he be nosy? Yeah, why the hell not. "What -- " turn the volume down, jeez, "um, what are you  
reading?"

"It's one of my father's journals. He was a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police back when I  
was too young to really remember, so I try to get a feel for his life through what he wrote."

"He never told you about it?"

"No, he died when I was six."

Foot two, mouth zero. "I'm -- I'm really sorry."

"It's all right. I've been used to it for a long time." He got up from his chair and got something out of  
the refrigerator. "Here, I made you something to eat -- I thought you'd appreciate genuine local Hawaiian  
cuisine."

Fish? Pineapple? Coconut? Together? He looked sceptically at the plate Ben held out to him. It looked  
like white bread. It was white bread. Sandwiches. He bit into one.

"Spam?" He couldn't believe it. "You're feeding me Spam sandwiches on Wonder bread and this is  
supposed to be, what, the state food?"

"Don't forget the mayonnaise, Ray. That's very important." Ben Fraser looked like he'd borrowed  
some of Ray's smug.

"You. Are shitting me."

"I am absolutely serious. Hawaiians have the highest Spam consumption in the world. Four cans a  
year for every man, woman, and infant child. You'll find that every convenience store will sell you a hot  
snack of Spam musubi. That's a block of sticky rice with a slice of fried Spam, wrapped in nori -- seaweed.  
The things they can do with Spam would amaze you."

Those teeth really were blindingly white. Ray practically had to shade his eyes. He tried to look  
suitably impressed about the whole Spam deal. It probably wasn't working.

"Actually, for a real Hawaiian meal -- 'local kine,' as they say -- you'd need a side dish of macaroni  
with mayonnaise."

He boggled. "Is all the food white here?"

"A large portion of it, yes, anything that's not purple or green."

Ben was just kidding.

He hoped Ben was just kidding.

Either way, he chowed down the Spam sandwiches like they were, well, Spam sandwiches, and lolled  
against the wall stuffed and happy. He couldn't remember feeling this content in a long time. Which was  
pretty strange, considering it had been a long fucking day, one that could have ended -- for him, at least --  
well before dark. The question was almost a surprise, although he should have expected it before now.

"What, exactly, were you doing on the edge of Halemaumau this afternoon, if I may ask?"

"Holy muumuu? That what the fire babe wears?" Lame, way lame, and he got a penetrating stare from  
under the dark brows. All right, if he could be nosy, so could Ben. Fair was fair.

"What I was doing there sort of goes along with, 'Why am I here?' It's really an existential question,  
Ben, my friend." He shifted off part of his ass that was still sore from the fall for some reason he couldn't  
figure out. "I, um, I came here to get away."

"What did you want to get away from?" The nice low voice was gentle, not like an interrogation, just  
asking.

"Stella." He swallowed hard. "I mean, I was already away from her. She left. But I had all these  
memories. And everything that wasn't Stella was too new, too intense, you know? There's so much out  
there, but it hurts because none of it's her."

"Stella was your . . . wife?" A pointed look at Ray's hand, where his ring finger still had the indent of  
his wedding band.

"Bingo. Thirteen years, sixteen together if you count before we were married. I didn't know what to do  
when she walked out. She was my whole life." He picked at the quilt where the star was sewn on. Took a  
deep breath. "Did you ever feel like you don't know who you are? Like if you weren't around somebody, or  
if that somebody wasn't around you, that maybe you wouldn't be you? Or maybe not the you that you think  
you are?"

He looked up into Ben's sad blue stare. Somewhere in there was another story, one that Ray might or  
might not ever hear. He wasn't quite nosy enough to poke for that one.

"Yes, I . . ." Ben stopped and looked at the floor. "Yes."

"Shit happens." He forcibly removed his hand from the quilt, put it on his leg. "We were so young,  
you know? When we got together. She was so pretty, such a little hardass. She was only fourteen, came up  
to about my shoulder. Hard as nails, but she was afraid, too. Foul mouth on her, all big talk and dirty  
words." He smiled at the memory. "She came to the place I hung out when I took boxing lessons." He  
wadded up the quilt in his hand, then tried to smooth it out when he realized what he was doing. No way he  
was going to be making a replacement quilt.

"What was she afraid of?" Fraser was politely not looking at him, not watching whatever was bleeding  
out of his eyes. He was looking through the glass door on the wood stove, watching the flames jump  
around. Ben Fraser was a good man.

"The other girls in her neighborhood, they either went with the white gang, the Heralds, or the  
Conquistadores. She didn't want either one. She thought maybe if she came to the gym, we'd teach her how  
to protect herself. We took gang members all the time."

"Did you?"

"Tony Bonetti laughed in her face. It was the only time I ever saw her cry, except for . . ." His throat  
closed up a little, and he coughed. "He had to have his jaw wired shut. The next time she came in, he didn't  
laugh." He rubbed at the bump on his nose where she broke it a couple months later, and smiled at how  
she'd made it up to him the day after. "She learned quick, too. Wasn't too long before she didn't need  
somebody else to do the punching for her."

Ben was definitely looking at him now, mouth open while he licked the bottom lip, all 'tell me more,'  
but he'd been in enough snooze-o-matic meetings to know how little that could mean. He was already  
eating the guy's food, sitting on his bed, wearing his clothes. Just because Ben snatched him from a fiery  
death didn't mean he ought to suffer through Ray's life story.

"Hey, sorry, that's not important, okay?" He inhaled until his ribs hurt. "And that's the truth. What's  
important is that it's not important any more. Long story short. I put money down on the tickets a long time  
ago, for our anniversary, right? A week later Stella's gone. She said she didn't know who I was any more."

"Pele is sympathetic to the unlucky in love. Is that why she was willing to share her gin?"

"Yeah, me and the Volcano Goddess, we're like this." He held up crossed fingers. He only hoped it  
was true.

"Especially since she nearly got a better sacrifice." Ben didn't sound anywhere near as snotty as he  
might have. Ray could appreciate that. "Are you ready to turn in?"

"Yeah, I think I've about had it." He looked around for other bed options, but of course there was  
nothing. Ben was rummaging in the Bottomless Box. He came out with a bedroll, and Ray got up to get  
ready. "Thanks for, uh, giving me a place to sleep." He nodded at the bedroll.

"This is for me. In case you haven't noticed, I'm the host, you're the guest."

"No way. No way!"

"I've spent plenty of nights on surfaces harder than this, Ray," Fraser assured him as he flipped open  
the bedroll.

"Um, I hate to break it to you, but this floor is made out of cement." He kicked at the offending gray  
surface with a foot that really needed shoes on to be doing that shit.

"Cement isn't nearly as hard as what one can find out in the field. Ignimbrite, basalt, granite, obsidian,  
and of course the nearby a'a lava, which is not only hard," he paused, still deadpan, "as a rock, I daresay --  
but it's also quite painfully lumpy. Jagged, with sharp protrusions that can slice your bedroll to shreds." He  
nodded decisively. "This is really quite an improvement, despite the lack of flowing lava within easy  
reach."

"But --"

"It's only for one night. Surely you can allow me to be a generous host to a friend for one night."

He counted as a friend? Now he knew for sure the guy was lonely. If he didn't know better, he'd think  
Fraser really needed him to be here, wanted him to stay and be babied. Ray thought there might be a state  
law against that wide-eyed look back in Illinois. If not, there definitely should be.

"Okay, okay! Enough with the look, already!" He would have sworn that Fraser turned away just to  
hide a smirk.

Either way, the guy started to strip. Right in front of Ray's eyes. He didn't know why that surprised  
him so much, but it did. There wasn't really anywhere else for him to be getting ready for bed, except the  
bathroom, which was so tiny it was like one of those haunted house smallifying rooms. He'd almost  
skinned an elbow taking his own shirt off. And the room they were in was getting smaller too, by the  
nanosecond, so small that he had to back up, go sit back down on the bed.

He shouldn't watch, for God's sake.

The guy was not doing a skin show.

Tell that to his brain. The brain was not taking directions. Or maybe it was his eyes. He was a nut. It'd  
been so long that he was staring at strangers, strangers taking their clothes off, a decent guy who helped  
him out of a bad jam, stop that, it was -- yecch.

 

The fading firelight made a halo around Fraser's body as he unbuttoned his cuffs and started to pull off  
his shirt. The shoulders looked even broader with less clothes on than they did fully dressed. No wonder  
they could haul a full-grown man up out of a hole like he weighed hardly anything. Ray felt a pang as the  
shirt came sliding down Fraser's arms. He was wearing a t-shirt underneath. No skin at all, then, or only as  
much as the limp t-shirt allowed. It looked wrecked with age, soft -- touchable.

There was slippery, silky old cotton under his palm, warmed by the moving muscle underneath as  
Fraser turned to face him, lips parted for a question, the fire reflecting gold in his eyes . . .

Fuck.

Ray looked down at his hand, wondering what the hell that was all about. His hand didn't have an  
answer, lying curled up a little on his leg the way the dog was in front of the fire, all innocent and  
unconcerned. When had his body started feeling things without him? Maybe about the time he heard the  
shush of khakis sliding off of cotton boxers. He sure felt something at that. He felt unsettled, that was it.  
Strange place, strange bed, hell, Fraser was a strange guy. Slept on rocks, ate canned lunch meat in  
seaweed.

It was okay. He was freaking over nothing. Ben was brushing his teeth in the bathroom now, so he  
shucked the sweatshirt; better to be undressed than to get undressed, what if Ben was a perv like him and  
watched? It was the taking-off part that attracted attention. Nothing to do about the sweats, unless he  
wanted to ask for a clean pair of underwear on top of everything else, and he guessed Ben's hospitality must  
not extend that far. Ray didn't blame him.

When Ray brushed up against Ben's shoulder on Ben's way out of the bathroom and his own way in,  
he didn't even notice. Except for when he found out that even the ragged t-shirt wasn't as soft as Ben's skin.

It was so weird to be under a quilt in a shack with a wood fire, like there ought to be howling wind and  
howling wolves and snow piling up over the door. Call Of The Wild, like. But all he could hear was a faint  
snap-crackle-pop and Ben's settle-down sigh. Now that it was later, whatever bugs that didn't show their  
faces in the daytime were at it too, a hum that he wasn't used to. Every once in a while he could hear sort of  
a squeak as much as a chirp, one that sounded like it was coming from the roof.

"Cricket. Ben, you got a cricket." He smiled sleepily, thinking of Jiminy.

There was a soft answer from the man on the floor. "Mm? Oh, it's geckoes." He sounded like he'd  
been almost asleep, too.

"Uh." He blinked. "Geckoes? You mean those little lizard guys?"

"Mmhmm."

"On . . . the ceiling?"

His mental picture of a lizard slapping down on his face in the middle of the night must have leaked  
out somehow, because Ben made reassuring noises. "They have tiny suction cups on their toes, Ray. They  
seldom fall off the ceiling."

"Right."

 

He pulled the covers up over his face anyway. That was when he realized that Ben had already slept in  
those sheets. Well, of course he had, numbnuts, but it was more than just the faint smell of Ben, which was  
kind of nice all by itself. Sleeping in sheets that somebody else slept in was almost like . . . sleeping with  
somebody else. Having somebody there. It was comforting in a way nothing had been for a long time.

He breathed in Ben and drifted off into the nighttime hum.

 _It was the t-shirt that got his attention, that so-soft greyed-out cotton against his fingers, with warm  
solid man underneath. Ben was here, Ben was with him, and he didn't think to wonder why, just that it felt  
so good to touch him. He pushed his hand under the shirt looking for more soft skin over muscle. Oh, yeah,  
that was nice, sliding his palm across those wide shoulders. He followed the edge of a shoulderblade up to  
the back of Ben's neck. Ben sighed, smiled at him so very sweetly, and reached over to touch his face. Ray  
couldn't help smiling back. Ben trailed a fingertip along his jaw._

 _It was amazing that something so strange could be so easy._

 _"Ben," he whispered. "Ben."_

A muffled sound came from -- somewhere else.

" 'm here. You okay?"

No Ben. No Ben under Ray's hand, anyway. What was it with Ray's hands? Ben was somewhere.  
Where the hell was the voice coming from? Oh, yeah, the floor.

Holy shit, dreamland wasn't what it used to be. None of that falling from high places or being chased  
by hairy monsters, not for him, not these days. Now he was getting up close and personal with strange men.  
Kind of too bad about not getting to the part where he got some, though. Been a long, long time. Or maybe  
it was better this way. He'd discarded the sweats from under the covers, and his dick was begging for more  
against the Ben-scented sheets. Another thing the guy could sell. Christ, bad enough getting horny over his  
host; if he'd come all over the guy's sheets -- or worse yet, in his sweatpants, jesus god -- he'd have died on  
the spot.

There was another worried whisper. "Ray. Ray?"

He rolled over without answering -- didn't know what to say. His head hummed with night sounds and  
his body hummed with the feel of Ben under his hands. He didn't fall back to sleep so much as wander  
away, following the vibrations.

 

Coffee was tickling his nose. Someone was trying to be vewwy quiet, which always made him feel  
like Bugs Bunny. A wabbit with a hangover. He had no freakin' idea where he was, somewhere facing an  
unfinished board wall, until he saw the red quilt over him. Why that had made such an impression, he had  
no idea, but he knew he was in a cabin. Ben's cabin. The next thing to come to mind was the dream about  
touching Ben. Fuck. Now he had a problem and a headache.

"I thought light-colored booze didn't give you a hangover," he muttered.

"Obviously you've never had retsina," replied the man himself. Ray winced at the light beams shooting  
off the way-too-cheerful smile, as Ben handed him a weirdly erratic ceramic cup that had the world's most  
delicious smell curling out of it. Their fingers brushed, sending another kind of something good through  
him. His head hurt like hell, but his sex drive was still healthy. Or something.

"Thanks." A grating word was all he could do. Ray was not at his best in the early morning anyhow,  
but this morning, for coffee at least, he was truly grateful.

"Yes, the islands have that going for them, among many other things."

"Saved again." Sucking down half the coffee, he raised his head to peer, slit-eyed, out the window. All  
he could see was greenery. It looked like the backdrop to Waterworld. "Christ." He cleared his scratchy  
throat. "It's a jungle out there."

"Indeed it is, Ray," Ben replied, his voice much too cheerful, not to mention much too loud, for Ray's  
perfect comfort. "It's subtropical rain forest."

"Shh . . . Be careful. You're smashing all the dishes in my head. Don't shake 'em. Talk softly and carry  
a big . . ." His mind staggered to a stop.

"Stick?"

"Um. Yeah."

After that, he tried to keep his mouth shut, at least until his brain came back from wherever the hell it  
was living. When Ben suggested breakfast at the Volcano House, he just nodded.

They were cleaning up the crumbs, Ray happier now that his hair didn't hurt, when Ben said, "Do you  
like fish?"

Ray blinked. "Cooked? Hooked? What?"

"Ah, tropical fish, alive, in their native habitat."

Real fish, in the briny deep. Salt water, out there, in that big aquarium also known as the Pacific  
Ocean. He liked that idea more than he wanted to. He'd always wished he could meet a fish face to face,  
swim with it, swim like it, not be afraid like it wasn't afraid. Too bad it wasn't going to happen.

"Nah, they're too, um, fishy." He grabbed the bill and got up, hoping that would be the end of it. He  
had to ditch the mad rock scientist and get the hell out of here. No more white teeth and curious blue eyes  
to distract him from the neverending fun-fun-fun of his vacation. Say so long, it was time to get gone.

Fraser was more persistent than he'd given him credit for. "Snorkeling is entertaining and highly  
educational. I'm sure you'd enjoy it if you tried it." He spoke intently, but he wasn't looking Ray's way. He  
was playing with a quarter; no, it was some other coin Ray'd never seen before. He fingered it like a  
magician. "You really shouldn't go back to the mainland without sampling the area's points of interest." The  
light from the window winked off the coin at him.

Why was Ben pushing it? "No."

Or, why didn't he just hand over a little white lie and let it go, instead of saying no? He stared at Ben's  
fingers, transfixed by their gentle motion with the shiny coin. They were so agile; long and strong. Ben had  
hands like a workman, hands that would look right at home wrapped around an axehandle or a jackhammer.  
Or around . . . Ray shook his head, and tried to remember what they were talking about. Water. Swimming.  
Why he didn't want to.

"Why?" Fraser looked up from his own hand, honestly perplexed, like he couldn't imagine why  
anybody wouldn't want to walk away from every ounce of self preservation they had -- walk right out into  
the deep blue sea, and give themselves up to it.

He pulled Ben aside by the arm, ignoring the odd looks of other people in line for the cash register,  
ignoring the buzz in his fingers that came from having them on Ben, until they were huddled together in the  
hallway to the bathrooms. "You wanna know? Okay, I'll tell you." He looked around furtively. Stop that, he  
told himself. It wasn't a freakin' crime. "I, uh . . . " He could feel himself turning red. Now he was pissed.  
Spit it out, goddamn it. He was never going to see this man again, and that was fine. "I can't swim."

"I assure you, there's no real need to know how to swim in order to enjoy --"

Ray took a deep breath and interrupted before the ocean could close over his head. "I'm afraid of  
water, all right?" Belligerently, he leaned toward Ben and scowled into his face, expecting derision, but  
instead he saw only simple interest. Shifting back a little, he examined the floor. "I, uh, I fell into a pool  
when I was a kid. Hit my head, the lifeguard had to revive me. Haven't been in anything bigger than a  
bathtub since."

Ben wasn't smiling, but something about the way he looked at Ray made Ray heat up all over. "I know  
you can do this. And when you do, and you see all the wonders just under the surface, you'll forget about  
everything else. I promise."

Jeez, the way that voice slid into his ears about gave him goosebumps. Tightening his grip, Ray was  
surprised to realize he was squeezing Ben's arm, because that was where his hand still was. He was  
touching Ben, but it felt like Ben was touching him. Being around this guy was messing with his head  
something fierce, but he . . . liked it.

"Come snorkeling with me today."

He could barely remember the last time somebody wanted to spend time with him, something more  
important than inviting the gang to the nearest cop bar or a fast-food drive-by. Yup, a persistent bastard, all  
right. He was for sure looking at Ray now, all big-eyed, his tucked-in neatness almost visibly ruffling with  
how much he wanted it. And that, all by itself, was pretty damned appealing.

Maybe a golden retriever. When he was a kid, they had a black lab, but he'd always wanted a golden.

"Yeah. Okay."

 

Shit, that water was cold. Well, maybe not all that cold, not like ice, but no bathtub either. Feeling the  
ocean creep slowly up each thigh and curl up under his balls inside the wetsuit was . . . chilling. Maybe the  
suit was a better idea than he'd originally thought. Right now, he was shaking in his shoes. Flaking in his  
fins.

He swayed a little with the water, trying to keep his footing. Waist-deep on a rock bed, watching  
Fraser pull on his mask, he was so far not liking it. A lot. This water had a life of its own, moving him back  
and forth. He was cold and wanted to back the fuck out, but there was no way in hell he was going to. He'd  
die trying before he'd wimp out in front of Ben. He gritted his teeth before they could chatter.

It had been a lot different view from up along the road where they parked, looking down at the all the  
water colors while he was warm and dry. Pretty, not freakin' frigid.

Ben said, "When you move through the water, try not to kick hard or move your arms if you don't  
have to. Splashing and sharp gestures scare the fish away. Pretend you're a strand of seaweed moving  
gently with the current. The tide, what of it there is, is going out right now. That will help pull you along."

Great, and when the Bancroft expedition found him at the South Pole tomorrow, they could wrap him  
around a can of Spam.

"I'm going to take your hand to help steady you for a while, so you don't drift too far away until you're  
used to breathing through the snorkle. Just push off the rock to give yourself some forward momentum."

Ray didn't give a rip what the excuse was; he was mighty happy to hold anybody's hand right now.  
The water looked bigger every minute, and he was hardly in it yet. He pulled at his mask to make sure it  
was sealed, stuck the mouthpiece in, and held out his hand. Even with more cold water squishing in and up,  
his skin cringing in its path, he felt warmer with a fistful of solid Fraser to hang on to as they slid off face-  
first across the top of the water.

That was when he realized that the rock was gone. It had only been a ledge -- there was no bottom  
underneath him. Well, there was, but surprise, it was way farther down than he thought. Too far down.  
Between him and the bottom was a lot of water. His lungs seized up and he started to cough, desperately  
trying not to spit the air tube out of his mouth.

He hadn't had a panic attack in fifteen years, but he sure as shit was having one now. DON'T PANIC,  
he told himself, and the answer came back in little kid singsong: "You're gonna diiiie, you're gonna diiiie."  
He could almost hear the giggle afterwards.

There was water all around him as far as he could see in every direction that he could see. He had to  
get back. Had to get out. The water was sucking at him, sucking him away. He was headed toward that  
coral over there pretty fast and he couldn't seem to stop, that coral Fraser said he shouldn't get too close to  
because it would hurt him and he'd kill it -- why the fuck he'd said no stupidass yellow life jacket, no way,  
so he wouldn't be a geek, better a geek than a dead guy --

Oh, God, he was really going to lose it; he wasn't just going to drown and die, he was going to faint  
first. The ultimate embarrassment. He was going to take the Loser Of The Year snorkel award down with  
him to Davy Jones' locker room. He was kicking hard but it was like his fins caught on the water and just  
bent over, wouldn't do anything. He was shaking all over and his breath whistled and huffed frantically  
through the plastic pipe.

The sound effects freaked him out as much as anything else. The underwater was full of noise and  
roiling with bubbles. It was washing against the coral and sloshing back at him and he couldn't see and it  
was loud. His harsh breathing overrode even that and he was being pulled, pulled away from the evil killer  
coral to the safety of open water.

He'd forgotten all about Fraser.

Thank Christ Fraser hadn't let go.

Although he probably couldn't, since Ray might have broken his fingers. Even now, Ben was prying  
Ray's fingers off of around his hand. He grasped Ray's wrist firmly, staving off another round of panic.  
Now that open water seemed safer than where he was a minute ago, his breathing slowed down and his  
heart quit trying to dig its way out.

When he could catch a full lung of air, Fraser gestured at him with the OK sign. He nodded, pulled a  
deeper breath through the tube, and looked around for the first time. It was lighter under there than he  
figured. The sun came down through the water in streaks some places, and looked like it was moving with  
the waves. There were other things down there too, and he realized now that they were fish. The place was  
full of fish; it was like being in the big tank at the Shedd.

One fish, two fish . . . red fish, blue fish. And black and white stripes, and irridescent green and  
purple, little fish the size of his hand and some pretty big ones. The water was calmer here, and when he  
got close enough to the coral with the green and purple fish, he could hear them. The fish were gnawing at  
the coral, loud crunching that carried pretty far in the Jacques Cousteau underwater world.

Now that he wasn't thrashing around, some of the fish were coming his way, which was pretty weird.  
Ben had told him they weren't afraid of people, but he hadn't expected them to follow him around like he  
was the Pied Piper. It was . . . cool.

Off in the distance there was a huge honking yellow fish that Ben probably knew the name of. Ben  
gestured downward, and Ray followed the line of his arm. There were flat round green things down in the  
coral beneath them that he didn't recognize at first, until one of them got up and swam past him. He could  
have reached out and run a finger along the curve of its shell. A turtle, a really big one, so much like his at  
home but ten times the size. He was amazed by the grace they had under the water. It was like watching  
birds fly, only in slow motion.

Ray felt like he was flying, too. Held up by the water, he was flying low over the coral with the fish  
and the turtles. It felt great, terrific. Like magic. He felt Ben let go of his wrist and gave back the OK  
gesture, then carefully moved off in the seaweed swim so he didn't scare his new fishy friends away.

He had no idea how long he seaweeded around, watching the fish do their thing, not paying much  
attention to Ben except when he'd point at something neat, like a fish with a horn on its head or a big snake  
thing sticking its face, complete with a big gnash of teeth, out of the coral. One minute he was floating  
happily in fifteen or twenty feet of water and the next minute he was surrounded. There were big silver fish  
everywhere, thousands of them. This was no kindergarten class. These guys must have been from one of  
the Big Ten schools.

They weren't doing anything but being fish, but it was freaky to be out there with them, like being out  
in space; all that blue and all the flashing silver was disorienting, insofar as he was oriented anyway. He  
must have drifted off the continental shelf or something.

Blindly he stuck out his hand, and Ben took it. Moments later all the fish turned as one and vanished  
the way they'd appeared.

By some mutual agreement, he and Ben turned too. Even though he kind of wanted to stay there  
forever with the neat fish, he was turning into a giant economy-size prune, and getting pretty cold. There  
was water seeping in under his mask and he let Ben go to adjust it, but it didn't work. All of a sudden he  
had a mouthful of salt water, and it was so bad he was coughing and choking and flailing worse than  
before. He wasn't panicking yet, but then his snorkle was full of salt water and he didn't have enough air  
left to blow it out -- until arms wound around his chest and Ben held his face above the water line.

Oh, yeah. Saved again. He ought to get the guy a keg for around his neck.

With a squeeze to Ben's hand, he signalled he was ready, and they took off back to shore. He reached  
the rock ledge with equal parts glee and regret. He'd miss the fish, but he was damned glad to draw a dry  
breath, with no need to worry about where his next oxygen was coming from. Dry. Dry was good. On top  
of being a lot drier than a minute ago, he'd done it. Gone into the water and come out still alive. That was  
worth a celebration, and he'd have to think of something worthwhile.

He pulled off his mask and snorkle, noticing as he did that even mask marks couldn't make Ben look  
stupid. He'd been too busy trying to stash his anxiety about the water when they first got there to pay any  
attention to Ben, except listening with half an ear to his lecture on what kind of coral there'd be, the extra  
bouyancy added by wetsuits, the salinity of seawater near the Tropic of Cancer, and the price of puffer fish  
in China. Then, even Ben's voice couldn't get all the way through his twitchiness.

Now, he couldn't drag his eyes away.

He knew Ben looked good; you'd have to be blind not to. But that six feet of firmly packed -- naked,  
he was almost naked under his wetsuit -- body under the skin-tight black neoprene made him understand,  
on a right now basis, where the rubber clothes fetish came from. Ray's already-salty mouth went drier. His  
fingers straightened, trying to reach over all by themselves to pull down the diagonal zipper that held Ben's  
suit together, but he managed by sheer will to force them to curl up instead.

Ben's eyes glittered like the ocean they'd just come wading out of. Water-curled dark hair was  
dripping down skin pink from sun and exertion, and the gleaming smile wouldn't quit on a face that was  
getting . . . closer? Ben leaned in so close that Ray could feel his warm words on a cold, wet ear. One of  
those big workman's hands squeezed his arm as Ben said, "You did it, Ray."

He didn't think it was pride of achievement that left him tingly.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Ben's voice was as raspy as the velcro he casually ripped apart. Okay, so  
maybe Ray really did have a rubber fetish that he never knew about. He watched as every millimeter of  
pale skin appeared in the black vee of the zipper's teeth, and wished his own teeth were right there. Ben  
peeled off the upper part of his suit, leaving it to hang at his waist, dribbles of water running down his chest  
and arms.

"Hey, Doc Rock!"

Ray was genuinely disappointed when somebody called to Fraser as they were walking across the  
street to the truck. A small group of men was standing around a truck, unloading suits and tanks. In fact,  
Dief was already over there, giving up his spot in the shade so he could get some attention. The four guys  
were loving him up like they were all best buds.

Why had he thought he could have his new friend all to himself? Duh. The guy had friends of his own.  
Real friends, that he knew for more than . . . one lousy day. Eighteen hours. Eighteen hours and he was  
already totally fucked, what with the whole "being saved right and left by the most beautiful man he'd ever  
seen" thing.

Man, he hated that.

But.

He was on vacation, right? His freakin' dream vacation. His romantic once-in-a-lifetime trip to  
paradise. He would never see the man again. He would go back to his dreary cop life where his only  
pleasure was busting assholes who should have known better. He deserved something, here. Maybe he  
should paste a big wet one on that incredible guy and see what happened.

Maybe he should shoot moonbeams out of his ass.

Ben waved at the group standing a few cars down along the street.

"Sorry, Delmar, can't talk now! I'll give you a call later, yeah?"

He pulled Ray around to the other side of the truck and pinned him up against it. "Is this what  
you want?" He leaned in and kissed Ray's lips gently, sucking on them a little before leaning back.

If Ben hadn't been pressing him against the truck, he'd have slid to the dirt. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, it  
is."

"Well, then. Let me help you out of that suit. It's covering up what I want to see." Ben's erection  
was long and hard in the confines of his wetsuit, and it was pushing into the hollow of Ray's hipbone.

Oh, so slowly, he drew the down the zipper of Ray's suit and peeled it back, grasping the  
offending neoprene by its zippered edges. Using it as leverage for another kiss, he nibbled at Ray's dry lips.  
"God, you look good in black." Then he latched on for real, a deep wet probing kiss that made Ray float  
again. Ben was setting him free of that tight, sticky rubber, and he felt the soft breeze slide down his skin,  
with soft lips right behind. Soft, and wet. Ben tongued lightly down his neck. Ben's hand went to the small  
of his back, possessively kneading. Down and down, all the way to Ray's ass, pulling Ray forward to meet  
the hardness at his groin.

Ray was hard, too; Christ, he thought he was going to shoot right there in the damn wetsuit. Then  
it'd live up to its name.

Ben whispered in his ear, "Gas chromatograph."

Huh?

Ray jerked, and looked up to see Ben nearby, talking to his buddies.

Must be talking shop if they weren't speaking English.

He blinked once, hard. Holy shit, now Ben was the star in his x-rated fantasies. What the fuck was  
wrong with him? First his hands, now -- he looked down at the shadowed bulge in his suit -- his dick.  
Traitorous bastards. What body part was going to fuck him over next? Quickly, he pulled off the top of his  
wetsuit and let it hang from his waist as Ben had. There wasn't much else he could do for now.

"Ray. Ray. Ray!" Fraser gestured him over. He was talking to somebody who could have been a pro  
wrestler. The wrestler was talking in some kind of patois, like Spanglish only different. "When you go one  
night dive wit' us, Ben?" Ben's reply sounded like, "Bum bye." The big guy laughed and cuffed Ben's  
shoulder. "Talkin' da kine! You be one local after all, cuz."

"Ray, I want you to meet Delmar Wainui, who befriended me when I first came to Hawaii four years  
ago. Keola Gomes, Ernie Manu, Kimo Aiwohi, this is Ray Kowalski. He's visiting." There was a round of  
friendly howzits punctuated with the wagging of hands with thumbs and little fingers hanging out, then the  
other guys went back to messing with their dive gear.

"Pleased to meet you." Ray's hand was genially grabbed by a paw the size of Vermont, and he was  
afraid he'd have only a stump left afterward, but the Hawaiian Rock must be a gentle giant. "Any friend of  
Ben's is a friend of mine. If you got time, you're welcome to come night diving, too."

"I, uh --"

But the big guy had already interrupted him. "Ben! Las' week we wen' night dive, an' you know da  
LFAS." His aggravation seemed to wind up the accent. "It stay on, yeah? Fuckin' bastards, dey usin' da  
sonar! If we no drop mike, jus' to see wha's happenin' down dere, we be one plate lunch fo' sha'ks!"

"You say the navy is operating the Low Frequency Active Sonar? I thought they stopped testing. And  
you know they have to issue warnings. It's too dangerous to have people swimming in the vicinity!"

Delmar rolled his eyes. "I call 'em ness day an' some babooze say, 'You lolo, brah. No sonar no mo'.'  
Navy messin' wit us, major kine. Das junk. No whales now, but still honus an' nai'a." Pausing to take a  
breath, he turned to Ray. "Sorry, I get pretty . . . uh, mad about this stuff."

"That's okay, it doesn't sound too good."

Ben chimed in. "You're right, it can't be good for the turtles or dolphins, either. If the Navy's illegally  
activating the sonar, it has to be stopped."

"Aunty Meli, she go fix 'em." Delmar laughed, then sobered up. "Look, Ben, you go stay Oahu, stop in  
and talk to her, yeah? Somebody been sending her threats. She didn't go to the cops, she say it jus'  
somebody don' know his okole from his elbow." He turned to Ray. "You'll like Oahu, brah. Once you get  
out of the city, it's beautiful. Nice meeting you, and I hope you have a great time here."

"It's been pretty exciting, so far." Ray stepped back and let them have their goodbyes in peace, then  
walked back to their cars with Ben and a reluctant Dief.

"So. You care to translate that? I didn't quite catch all the Hawai'ibonics. I mean, it's none of my  
business, whatever." Ray waved a hand to show he really didn't care.

"No, not at all. It seems that Delmar and his friends went out for a night dive on his family's whale-  
watch boat, which he has outfitted for research. When they lowered the microphone into the water, they  
discovered that the Navy had activated their submarine detection system, in contravention of a court order."

Twice. Twice now in the last twenty four hours, Ben was stripping down in front of him, this time  
down to a still-dripping black Speedo. He was beginning to know that of the asses he'd seen lately -- even  
with him pumping iron for anything that moved -- Ben's was by far the best. He turned away, the better to  
both keep track of the conversation and keep his dick from waving hello. His borrowed swimsuit was no  
match for his hormones. Looked like there were just some levels of suckable that crossed boundaries.

"And this is really bad, because . . ."

"Because at its operational level of 240 decibels, the Navy itself reports that the sonar is likely to  
create significant concussion effects -- liver and lung hemmorhaging, and soft tissue damage."

Ray winced. "Ho, yeah. That's bad. What's the rest of the story?" Hemorrhage was plenty enough to  
take his mind off the view.

"The Navy is denying it, but Delmar threatens to sic Aunty Meli on them." Ben smiled, a sweet,  
thoughtful smile that made his face brighten, even in the shade. "She's quite a woman. She works with  
Hawaiian Sovereignty, and also has set up several protests against the Low Frequency Active Sonar  
testing."

"Huh." He didn't really want an explanation of all that. He just wanted to keep Fraser with him. How  
could he ask for any more, though? He was so into this strange place and this strange guy that it was hard to  
tell what was really there from what wasn't.

In his head, Ben should be with him -- save his life, feed him, keep him entertained. Strip just for him,  
touch him, love him up like those guys with Dief. Sure, why not? Then Ray could wave bye-bye and go  
home. He was obviously losing his fucking mind. Maybe it was time to give Ben a break, let him go do  
whatever he usually did with his free time. The guy had a life, had friends, he lived here.

"Well, uh . . . I s'pose I ought to get going. Lots of vacating to do, and all." Somewhere out of his  
repertoire, he dug the biggest smile he could, hoping it didn't look as fake as it felt. How stupid was that?  
How could he miss some guy he just met last night? By now, he should be too old to need a babysitter. "I  
just want to say . . . I appreciate your pulling my ass out of the fire."

Ben looked embarrassed, or something. "I . . . I was most happy to do so." He stared down at his  
hands, which were sort of fidgeting, which was funny because Ray would have said Ben wasn't a fidgety  
kind of guy. Then he stuck out a palm, which Ray took, shook, and probably held on to for way too long.  
His fingers didn't want to give it up. It almost hurt to let go.

"It's been great. Meeting you, I mean."

A strange noise, almost an under-its-breath whine, came from the dog. "Stop it," Ben commanded.  
"Ray is on vacation. We, on the other hand, have errands to run, and . . . ah, things to do." The dog had big  
blue eyes, too. "Yes, we do. For one thing, we have to get you a bag of dog food unless you wish to starve.  
I don't think the mongoose population will suffice." He looked back at Ray. "Goodbye, Ray. I hope you  
have a wonderful time."

The talking to the dog thing was different, and that was fine, but the errands sounded like what a chick  
would say if she had to wash her hair. Polite, but he'd have to clean the boot print off his butt later. No  
more hanging around together. Standing here was . . . it was an . . . anti-climax. Yeah, that was the right  
word for it. Ben was a total stranger, one who'd wanted his company this morning but now he had other  
stuff to do. A total stranger that made his dick stand up and beg, but so did most people these days.

If Ray wanted some nookie, he'd be better off in the hotel bar. If he wanted a friend, this one would be  
4,000 miles away. Time to get his ass in gear. Take a hike.

He had five days left in Paradise. And if his vacation looked a little emptier without Ben, then he'd  
find something else to take up the space. He was good. No problem.

"So long, and thanks for all the fish." He almost reached out his hand again, just for the feel of Ben's  
folded around it, but pulled it back in time.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing." He looked over at the water, then scrunched his eyes shut. He didn't want to do this. He  
really didn't want to do this. Shit. This wasn't the way it went in the movies. Didn't they ever make movies  
where two guys met on an island and got their sand hauled, with the ocean licking their toes?

"Look, wait," he finally said, but it was to empty air. A couple passing cars had masked Ben's getaway  
while Ray was gazing at his navel. Ben was already hustling the dog into his Jeep, giving Ray a wave as he  
pulled onto the road. Well. Suck City, Arizona.

Ray was in the dive shop returning his rental equipment when he realized that, under his torn and dirty  
jeans, he was still wearing Ben's extra Speedo.

Wow.

Ray's own underwear was dried out and stiff from the mud that filtered right through the denim  
yesterday, so he hadn't worn it. At least his dirty jeans didn't give him a crackly snuggie. The discarded  
underwear was . . . well, he hoped it wasn't on the floor of Ben's bathroom, but he couldn't remember. So  
instead, he had on The Speedo.

It was taking on that kind of importance.

Now that he was thinking about it, he could feel it, feel how his jeans slid over the slippery fabric,  
giving him all kinds of crazy sensations. Or maybe he was just imagining the way the Speedo clung to his  
jewels and cradled his dick, the way it stretched along his ass when he moved, the way it caught and pulled  
at some of the short hairs. Whoa. Not his imagination, the slickness of lycra smoothing down the head of  
his thickening cock as it pushed up, looking for more.

Fuck. This thing was more like a sex toy than a fucking swimsuit, and it belonged to Ben. Holy shit.  
Just the idea of Ben feeling the same creamy goodness from the same couple inches of lycra cuddled  
around his dick -- Ben laying on the beach, Ben with one knee up and his hand covering the bulge, rubbing,  
stroking . . . Ray wanted to stick his hand down his jeans and help himself out right there in the middle of  
the goddamned fucking store. A faint noise whistled up from the back of his throat.

He practically threw the cash at the surprised clerk and didn't look back as he fled the dive shop.

Christ, he thought as he got into his rental, why hadn't Ben said something? Those suits weren't cheap  
\-- obviously for a good reason. Sell them prepackaged with a vibrator and you could make a fortune.  
Although, all things considered, maybe Ben didn't want it back. He sure as hell wouldn't if he knew what  
purposes it was going to get up to. Ray couldn't help but snicker. No hospitality would go that far. But he  
could have the hotel throw it in the laundry later and send it back, care of the Observatory -- he wouldn't  
even need the address in a place like this -- no harm done.

In the meantime, it felt damn good. Felt like . . . Ben. He couldn't resist the occasional squeeze-n-tease  
as he rolled down the highway, singing along to 'he done me wrong' songs on an oldies station he found.  
Maybe Ben hadn't stuck around, but he'd sure introduced Ray to a new twist. Not only was he into anybody  
with three dimensions, now he was getting kinky, too. Date night could be boys, girls, or sporting goods. It  
was kind of a trip; he'd pretty much toed the line all his life so far as behavior was concerned. A few  
youthful hijinks, sure. But he'd been a cop married to a lawyer for most of his adult life.

Find A New You On Vacation. He sure as hell hadn't expected to find this one, but he was willing to  
go with it.

The other thing he didn't expect to find was brake lights in the middle of the freakin' highway, now  
with hazards flashing. Good thing he'd been paying at least some attention to the road, whatever he could  
drag away from his hormones. He couldn't help the cheer that went up inside him when he got close enough  
to see that it was Ben's truck, Ben that got out and walked around the front. He'd be glad to give the guy a  
ride. Anywhere. Any time. "You got no class, Kowalski," he muttered out loud as he got out of the car.

What he saw around the front of the truck, though, made him back up a step. Ben was on the ground,  
his fingers on the neck of the guy laying there. Early 20s, about 6'1", military style short dark hair, skinny  
build -- maybe 165 pounds. Ben's dog was sniffing around, whining. "What the hell?"

"Ray! There's still a pulse." He leaned down to put his ear to the guy's nose. "Wait, he's stopped  
breathing."

"You start, I'll call 911." Why he just assumed the guy knew what he was doing was another question.

"Already done."

Ray went to jack his car crosswise along the road so that both vehicles could be seen from a distance;  
then they traded off CPR. It wasn't his favorite thing, trying to breathe for somebody who might not make  
it, and he was glad to hear the wail of the ambulance. When the paramedics took over, Ray got the  
explanation.

"I was just driving along when I saw what I assumed to be a big light-colored dog laying in the road.  
In my own defense, that's not an uncommon sight around the island, although they do tend to avoid busy  
highways."

"First off, you must drive like a slug. I caught up to you."

Fraser lifted his eyebrows, and that little smile licked at the corner of his mouth. "There's a bumper  
sticker you'll see on the islands that proclaims, 'You drive fast, you got no style.'. I find I prefer to have  
style."

Ray just shook his head, mystified.

Thank God there wasn't much traffic; the place would have been a mess. The patrolman took their  
statements. Hard to believe there was state highway patrol here, or even state highways. It was nice to be  
on the other end of a police intervention for a change. Here, he got to leave when it was over instead of  
taking it all with him. In what was a lot less time than it seemed like, they were free to go.

Except for Ben. No way was he free to go, no matter what kind of trash Ray had to talk to get him to  
stay. Nobody who could partner him like that, surfing the same wavelength with hardly a word, could be  
allowed to get away. Even if Ray could only keep him for a few days.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, and ended up blinking the other half of  
it painfully out of his eyes. It was damned hot away from the ocean in Hawaii in July. Ben said this was the  
dry side, and he wasn't kidding. The sunny sky lit up the dark brown rocks, but the blazing heat made  
yesterday's fine mist kind of appealing. He could see water from here, bright blue off into the distance, but  
it was more like a desert this far up the mountainside -- hell, the whole island was a mountainside. Except  
for the part that was a mountaintop. Volcanotop.

Rocky rubble and some yellow dried-up grass was all there was to this landscape. There was no jungle  
out here. It was so big and plain and brown that they had their own graffiti, way less annoying than paint  
tags. Greetings, sayings, and 'Joe Loves Anuhea' were spelled out in white pebbles in the lava fields along  
the highway. Seeing the white rocks reminded Ray, as if he could forget, that he was salted like slab bacon  
and his clothes were full of day-old sludge, never a good combination.

He'd just about kill for a shower right now. Even Ben was starting to wilt.

"You look like you could use a shower and something to drink, and I know I could," he told Ben, as  
soon as he could catch his eye. "Let's go."

"Go where?"

"My hotel is right up the highway. I'm paying for it; let's go use it."

A frown lined its way between the dark brows. A bead of sweat followed it. "I don't want to impose --  
"

"I bet the mutt could use a dip in the ocean." Dief was panting heavily in the shade of the Jeep, tongue  
dripping, and he yapped agreement. Ray hoped Ben didn't need more convincing than that. He didn't know,  
short of kidnapping the guy, what he could use as a lure. Too bad offering up his virgin ass wouldn't work.  
He wasn't even sure he wanted to offer up his virgin ass.

This time, he was in luck. Go Pele. For the promise of a shower, Ben turned out to be as easy as he  
was pretty.

When smile lines came out around Ben's eyes, he knew the guy was close. He could see the whites of  
Ben's teeth. "Diefenbaker's always wanted to be a salty dog, Ray." It was as good as please and thank you.  
Hallelujah; give the man a chorus.

"Come on, then. I'm at the Kona Village."

 

Dief had a ball in the rushing foam. Fraser'd poured him as much fresh water as he could drink from a  
plastic jug in the back of the truck, then let him loose to romp. He splashed through the shallows and  
snapped joyously at the waves as they curled toward him, backing up hard and fast when they threatened to  
dunk him. It was so nice, so bright and blue and cool at the water's edge. He didn't even care about a  
shower, not now.

Watching Dief made Ray itch to romp too, and why not? So he took off, chasing the white dog in the  
white spray. His filthy clothes arced into the breeze after he pulled the gritty t-shirt and then the jeans off,  
hopping and laughing. Good thing for the swimsuit.

"Where'd you get that maniac, anyway?" Ray gasped, delighted to see that Ben had kicked off his  
shoes and joined them, t-shirt and nylon shorts molded to his body by the wind. Ray could only breathe a  
sigh of relief that it wasn't the same shirt as yesterday.

"I'll tell you later. Right now, I have the ultimate weapon. It's something -- besides food, that is -- that  
Diefenbaker can't resist."

"Hey! A frisbee! I haven't thrown a frisbee in years."

"Just like riding a bicycle, I assure you."

They pounded up and down the empty beach, sand and spray flying along with the frisbee, and that  
damn dog could leap high enough to grab it right out of the air half the time. Getting the thing back was the  
problem; they had to gang up on him and tackle him sometimes to pry it out of his jaws. Which led to a lot  
of dog slobber, but it was easy enough to rinse everything off in the bubbly water lapping the shore.

Dog wrassling with Ben gave him some body-contact freebies, but he was genuinely trying not to take  
advantage. Manfully, he ignored the press of Ben's hip, and the way the hair on Ben's leg scrubbed against  
his own. He was beginning to feel like a dog chasing a car, anyway. If he caught Ben, what would he do  
with him?

He'd never been with a guy, even though the idea of bumping dicks was starting to sound pretty damn  
good. His hands, being the the way they'd been lately, had their own ideas; it was tough to keep them to  
himself. But he was working on it as best he could.

Ben was willing to hang around him for a while and have some fun. Ray would take anything he could  
get for as long as he could get it, beg for it if he had to, and that ought to be enough. Had to be enough,  
Speedo be damned.

Finally, winded by the last sprint, Ray couldn't do it anymore. He flopped down and, with a dying  
hand on his chest, called out in a horrible falsetto, "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" His ridiculous  
acting was met with outright laughter, laughter he hadn't heard before. Something quiet inside him made  
his mouth turn up and his toes curl a little all by themselves.

Ben skidded down beside him, raining sand across his belly. He couldn't let that one go.

"Watch it! Do I look like a 97-pound weakling?"

"No. You look like the wiry-but-dangerous type." Ben looked thoughtful, not like he was joking, as he  
stretched out face-down. "You're a fighter, you're strong and fast. I believe you could take me any time."

Ray's head snapped back Ben's way as he looked again, wide-eyed. Did he really just hear that? Ben's  
dark head was already pillowed on his arms.

He'd better keep his gutter thoughts to himself before he got in trouble.

The sand was almost too hot, but softer to lay on than he thought it would be. With a satisfied sigh, he  
wiggled to let the grains scuff his back. It was like a massage. Basking was good; very, very good. The late  
afternoon sun warmed him all the way to his bones, and the sea breeze kept him cool on the outside. He  
loved the soothing crash and hiss of the surf as it washed up on the sand. He even liked the rusty shrieks of  
the sea birds.

When he had his sand hollow fixed to complete comfort, shoulder to shoulder with Ben and just  
damned happy to be there, he thought he'd found perfect peace. Knots were loosening in his back that were  
so deep he hadn't even known they were there anymore, they'd just seemed normal. He hoped he could soak  
up enough relaxation to bring some back to the city with him, keep himself centered for a while. It was the  
zen of beach, it was what he'd been hoping to find when he came here; maybe what he'd been trying to find  
for a while now.

Until three seconds later, when a cold wet frisbee slapped down on his bare stomach. "Ow! Shit! Sure,  
now you bring over the freakin' frisbee." He pushed at Dief, who promptly shook himself all over, covering  
Ray with a shower of sand and salt water.

From next to him, there was a noise suspiciously like a giggle, quickly swallowed.

"You? Shut up. It's your menace to society."

"He's been known to be quite contrary, Ray."

"He got a garden, too?"

"I've never noticed any cockle shells in his vicinity, no."

"Hey, you were going to tell me where you got him."

"I didn't exactly 'get' him. We found each other."

"Here?"

"On a lava field, in the Ka'u desert south and west of the Kilauea Caldera. I was backpacking there last  
summer, just to re-familiarize myself with the area. While hiking, I broke through a section of thin crust  
and fell into a lava tube. Fortunately, there was no lava flowing in it at the time." Fraser propped himself up  
on his elbows, forearms covered in sand. He was looking off like he could see that lava field from here.

"When I came to, there was a white puppy standing on my chest. Needless to say, it was licking my  
face." Fraser glanced over toward Dief, all soft-eyed. Ray caught himself wishing Ben would look at him  
like that. "For a moment I thought I was hallucinating."

He rolled back a little, facing Ray. The yellow light of the late afternoon did good things for the guy,  
as if he needed it. "It took us three days to walk out of the maze of tubes and back to a road. We shared my  
food, and there was enough water seeping into the lava tube to keep us going. I don't consider myself a  
superstitious man, but I have to tell you that after a couple of days I was getting a bit nervous."

"How come? I mean, besides the obvious." He knew already that with Ben, it was bound to be not-the-  
obvious.

"Aside from her better-known guises of a beautiful young woman and an old crone, Pele is also  
sometimes said to appear as a small white dog. However, she assumes that form as a warning of a major  
eruption."

Ray tried to imagine wandering lost in dark, clammy underground tunnels for days, all the time  
wondering if any minute he was going to be quick-fried to a crackly crunch by an enraged volcano goddess.  
God, Ben down there all alone . . . he shivered, in spite of the hot sun. Studying volcanoes made cop work  
sound safe. He could only hope it came with hazard pay.

A growl from his stomach derailed that train of thought. He reached over to rub the ears of the dog  
laying by their heads and the thump of Dief's tail flipped more sand in his hair. "Time to eat, it sounds  
like." Regretfully, he sat up from his perfect spot. "Let's get cleaned up. And him, too. He's probably  
carrying twenty pounds of sand on him. There's a pound in my hair alone."

There was a hose neatly coiled up outside Ray's thatched-roof hut. Between the two of them, they got  
a now-unhappy Diefenbaker mostly rinsed out. The water was nice and warm, and he was just about to put  
the hose over his own head to splash off the worst of it all when he saw Ben stand up and start to brush at  
himself ineffectively. Between laying on the beach and washing the dog, the man had a layer of that  
incredibly sticky, microscopically fine sand head to toe. That was more temptation than Ray could bear.

Adjusting the nozzle to a fine spray, he turned it on Ben.

Ben yelped as he staggered backward, unaware that he was now the winning only entrant in Ray's  
personal wet t-shirt contest. He hadn't meant to do that, honest, it was just a nice side effect of getting the  
sand off. And God, Ben looked so good, second-skin white cotton now almost see-through along with the  
wet clingy red nylon shorts, and water running down off that long-muscled body all over. So good it was  
wrecking all Ray's internal promises and tie-me-downs.

If he'd thought his hands were the problem before, he was summarily relieved of that delusion by how  
bad he wanted to lick, to follow those streams of water with his tongue, to suck those cold hard nipples  
back to warm.

Then Ben grabbed the sprayer out of Ray's hand and started to hose him down, face first.

Spitting and sputtering and howling with laughter, they grappled for the nozzle. He could feel where  
the wet was and where it wasn't. The water had been warm on his hands, but it got cold fast on his bare  
skin. The wind off the ocean felt like somebody licking him. He could sure as hell feel where Ben was and  
wasn't -- every square inch of skin where Ben's body moved against him was happy.

A couple fast moves later, after Ben had practically shoved the damned sprayer up Ray's nose by  
accident, he realized the awful truth. He had a boner that couldn't be missed by a blind man, goddamn the  
fucking Speedo -- "Shower time!" he croaked. He eeled away out of Fraser's wet hold and raced into the  
hut like there was a fire under his ass, leaving Ben holding the stupid hose like the Statue Of Liberty.

He was safely under the shower, locked in the bathroom, before he even pulled the swimsuit down and  
finally, finally touched himself.

He was a total creep. He wouldn't be surprised if Ben was long gone when he got out of there, but this  
was the safest way. Just -- oh, God, his own hand had never felt so good.

He'd been up on the roof for months and dangling off the edge ever since yesterday's t-shirt and he  
couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't -- his knowing hand felt like somebody else's, and three tight soapy  
strokes later he was mewling, moaning, trying to keep the noise level down as he came all over the side of  
the fake marble shower stall.

The wall of the shower was cold and slippery on his back. His legs folded like used chewing gum and  
his mind was probably gone for good. As long as he was down there on the shower floor, he sat under the  
spray and tried to wash his hair -- the shampoo having conveniently made it down there too. It wasn't easy  
to get his fingers moving together, even though they worked fine just a minute ago. He wasn't sure he was  
ever going to breathe right again.

Moving a little slow, it took him a while to make his way out of the bathroom. No clothes in there, so  
he had a towel around his waist as he looked around the hut. No Ben. No big surprise, but he was still  
sorry. He dug in a not-yet-unpacked suitcase for some clean everything, and jumped when he heard a voice  
behind him.

"My turn."

Ben looked really big standing in the doorway, his shoulders almost filling the width. The sun coming  
through the side window glowed on his bare chest. He was wearing a pair of old jeans, been through the  
wringer and ripped at the weak spots. His feet were bare, too. He looked like a fucking centerfold. A not-  
fucking centerfold. Thank God Ray's happily limp cock was not making waves in the freaking towel.

The small smile on Ben's face faded. "It's still okay for me to take a shower, right?"

Ray closed his mouth. Then he relaxed into a whole-body grin. "Yeah, yeah, towels in there,  
everything you need is on the counter."

"Thanks, Ray."

Ray spent almost the whole time Ben was in the shower staring blankly at the tourist magazine left on  
the bedside stand, his brain superimposing images of Ben's wet soapy naked body over the pretty pictures  
of golf courses and overpriced luaus.

Bad brain. Very bad. Concentrate. Look at the pretty hula girls. Don't think about those big hands  
scrubbing the short thatch of hair under the arms, luxurious foam from that expensive hotel soap inching  
down over that smooth chest, fingertips gliding slowly over a flat stomach toward a cock that lifted eagerly  
up . . .

He threw down the magazine and paced. Maybe if he went outside.

At least it was beautiful outside, the kind of great weather that Chicago never had. Warm, but not  
humid. How could it not be? He was standing right on the ocean. There it was, he could see it from here.  
The air -- there was something funny about the air. Well, besides the fact that it was clean, unlike Chicago.  
It was . . . soft. He didn't know why, or how he could feel it on his skin. It was just different, like walking  
around in his own big coccoon of soft.

The sun was heading toward whatever lump of land was on the horizon. Another island. Without the  
other islands, he'd be alone, they'd all be alone. This would be the only hunk of rock for a thousand miles, it  
practically was already, a pinpoint in the open sea, empty water stretched out to infinity . . .

Enough.

When he went in, Ben had gotten out of the shower and was standing, untanned torso glaringly white,  
hair still dripping a little onto the towel around his neck, in the middle of the hut.

"Great, you're done." Ray's relief made him a little zingy. If he didn't calm down, he'd start bouncing  
off the walls. "Let's go eat. There's a really cool restaurant here, they got a waterfall and some fish in the  
pool and tiki torches . . ." His impending mental breakdown was interrupted by Ben, who for some reason  
decided to be practical.

"I'm sorry, I'm really not dressed for a nice restaurant." Ben spread his hands, maybe to show  
helplessness, but to Ray it was more like an advertisement. "I only had a few things in my swim bag, and  
my t-shirt is still wet."

Oh, yeah. Ray was fucking buying. "Don't go away."

He stepped to the closet and pulled out the Hawaiian shirt he bought yesterday morning for his dad. It  
was way too big for Dad, but -- as his mom always said -- cotton never stopped shrinking. Like everything  
in the hotel gift shop, it cost a fortune, but Ray couldn't resist the colors -- blues and golds and palm trees  
dancing around the middle. It really looked just like this place. His dad would have gotten a good laugh,  
put it in the closet, and never looked at it again. The laugh would have been enough, but . . . Ray snapped  
off the price tag. At least Fraser would wear it, if only this once.

"This should work."

Why was Ray not surprised when it looked really, really good on him?

They left Dief on what Fraser called the lanai with a bowl of dog food from Fraser's stash and some  
water. On their way across the grounds to the restaurant, Fraser said, "I hope that young man makes it."

"I do too, buddy." He didn't hold out much hope, though. There was always a disturbing finality about  
the 'stops breathing' part. Especially when you couldn't start it again. "We'll know tomorrow when we read  
it in the paper."

Searching for a happier subject, he tried something completely different. "So how did you get mixed  
up in the rock biz, anyway?"

"Oh, it seemed romantic, I suppose."

Ray was still trying to come up with some kind of answer when Ben continued.

" 'In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth, and the earth was without form, and void;  
and darkness was upon the face of the deep.' "

" 'And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.' "

"Yes." Fraser's voice was still soft, but it seemed a lot bigger than it was before. "In the same way the  
earth was born then, appearing from the waters God called Seas, it's still being born now. The island  
trembles under our feet as massive plates of continental crust and oceanic crust grind against each other,  
forcing up secrets that have lain underneath for millions of years. Here, molten rock spews from undersea  
vents with unimaginable heat and force, creating dry land where there once was none."

Rocks were more poetic than he ever noticed. For that matter, so was Ben.

Ben gave him a half-smile. "Or, perhaps it's simply that I have a streak of frustrated midwifery. If the  
earth was being born, and born again, I wanted to be here to see it."

He stopped unexpectedly, and when Ray swung around, he was just sort of staring at his shoes.  
"There's a concept called 'deep time.' A famous geologist, James Hutton, said, "The mind seemed to grow  
giddy by looking so far into the abyss of time . . . we see no evidence for a beginning, nor prospect of an  
end." He shook himself out of his abyss and started walking deliberately, hands behind his back. "I fear I  
was seduced by the amplitude of time, and the vastness of earth changes."

The cooling evening air brushed its softness around him. Sand shifted under his feet as they walked.  
Sand was rocks too, once. Maybe it had a poetry of its own.

"Seduced?"

Ben coughed a little. "It's overwhelming to stand on a modern day desert and realize that the rocks  
you're standing on where formed on the floor of an ancient sea. Small sea creatures died, were captured in  
sediment, and preserved for us to find today. And even though that happened millenia ago, still you are  
there with them, and they here with you." He paused, getting his thoughts together. "We share their DNA.  
We share cell structure with most of them. In a way, we are them, and they were . . . us. We're all just  
eukaryotes together."

"What the hell is all that supposed to mean? Sounds like Bad Religion."

"I don't believe it's any religion, Ray."

"The hell it's not. I heard that song. 'No vestige of a beginning, no prospect of an end.' "

"Really?" Ben stared up at the sky. Ray wanted to tell him to look the fuck where he was walking. "It's  
been popularized, then, in a very interesting manner."

"No Control. That's the name of the song."

"Do you believe that? That we have no control?"

"No." It was his turn to do the stopping. "No, I don't." He thought about that for a minute. His boots  
needed cleaning.

"Life is like this: You gotta retrace your steps to figure out how you got here. I took this bus, I drove  
this car, I got on this plane, I walked down this street, I turned this corner, I fell into a volcano. I don't have  
control over what's out there, but that doesn't matter the way I used to think it did. 'Cause it's all up here."  
He tapped his head with an index finger. "That's where it's at."

They resumed their stroll toward food.

He could have done something different, he could have changed everything. He knew that. All he had  
to do was stop. He knew that the whole time. But he'd never realized before that he wouldn't, couldn't, stop.  
Not then, not until now.

"See, I did what I had to do, what I knew I should do." It surprised him that he'd do all those same  
things all over again, starting from scratch. He didn't want to do them now -- time to leave that shit for the  
younger cowboys -- so it looked like age and experience got a vote after all. But even if he could, he  
wouldn't change the past, not for Stella or anybody else. It was like something heavy slid off the top of his  
head.

"What did you do, Ray?"

Ben was looking at him again with that pleaseplease look, and Ray thought, what the hell. "I worked  
undercover."

"You're not an actor, then." Ben didn't look at all surprised.

"No, I'm a cop. A detective. I've been a lot of people that weren't very nice, and I guess I kind of  
brought them home with me, one by one. That was what broke us up, me and Stella. That's why she said  
she didn't know who I was anymore."

"I'm sorry, Ray."

"It couldn't be helped, I guess. At the time, it was something I had to do. To know I was doing right. I  
never meant for that to happen -- to take them home. I guess I was starting to Sybil."

Ben looked blank for a second, then it clicked. "You mean multiple personality?"

"Yeah." Ray shoved his hands in his pockets, kicking at the sand as he walked. "I had all these pieces,  
they weren't me the way I used to be, but they were there, and sometimes they came out when I least  
expected it. Or wanted it. Got 'em from being a bad guy or just a stupid guy, and I gotta tell you, you hardly  
ever get to go undercover as a smart good guy." He sighed. "Vecchio wasn't too bad, at least he was a  
decent guy and a cop, but by then it was just one too many."

"I -- Ray, I . . ."

"No, it's okay, really. Like I said, I'm sorry I didn't know what to do about that part. Maybe there was  
nothing to do. But undercover was what I was good at, it was my way of trying to, you know, fight the  
good fight. Uh, against the forces of evil."

He laughed at his own weak joke, but the look Fraser gave him was all too understanding. He  
wondered for a minute if the guy could see straight into his head. That was -- no way. Nobody'd ever done  
that to him before, and he didn't want it to start now. Thank God their goal was in sight.

"Hey, we're here! Let's go get a table." Ray practically shoved Ben through the door into the  
restaurant. Food was good, and a couple beers even better. Ben ordered a pupu platter, which sounded like  
a bad day at the diaper store but was perfectly normal appetizers. Teriyaki beef, sushi with ginger and  
wasabi, cold shrimp. Buffalo wings, even. Since those were a hit, he accepted an offer of some poi, and  
about choked trying to wash it down. Even he wasn't tacky enough to spit it into one of those cloth napkins.  
Double points for a damn good local beer on that one.

"It's an, ah, acquired taste," Ben admitted, trying to hide his smile behind his own glass of Longboard.

"I'll say! Tastes like you acquired library paste, buddy mine." Giving Ben's large portion a baleful  
glare, he added, "It's gone bad, too."

 

They were sitting at a table with a great view of the water, which he noticed when he quit shoving  
food in his mouth like it was going out of style. A spectacular sunset was filling the sky with golds and  
purples. What a great place to be. He ordered them both another beer. "So, tell me where you been, Ben."

"You mean you didn't notice I was with you all day?" Ben was kind of sprawled out in his bamboo  
chair, more relaxed even than he'd been on the beach. Or maybe it just looked different indoors, where  
people were expected to sit up straight.

"Wipe that smirk off." He threw a wadded-up napkin at Ben's chest. It was a satisfyingly big target.  
"You must have stories."

"I've been to Nicaragua. The Philippines. Peru." He paused, obviously trying to come up with  
something that would be interesting to Ray -- Volcanoes For Dummies. "It's true what they say about  
llamas, Ray." The man had a wicked gleam in his eyes, but Ray wasn't quite sure why.

Confused, he dredged through his brain for anything to do with llamas. "Uh, they spit?"

"Like a bad date."

Beer all over the fucking tablecloth, good thing they were done eating. He hadn't done that for years;  
he was coughing and hacking and Ben's warm hand rubbing his back made him want to cough all night.  
Finally, he got enough air to talk. "And you look like poi wouldn't melt in your mouth!"

Lips twitching, Ben raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, Ray, I'm used to hanging around with uncivilized  
types."

Ray snickered. "Yeah, you and all those potty-mouth geologists." He missed Ben's hand. Wished it  
was right back where it belonged. "No problemo. You got nothin' down here like what I'm used to in  
Chicago."

He was surprised when Ben, looking a little wistful, said, "Really? That's too bad."

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that! I like what you got! Uh, here." And he was going to try to explain,  
but you couldn't explain doofusness, and he got sidetracked by those pretty eyes anyway. Ray was only  
dragged away from them when he realized that Ben was talking, but he wasn't listening. "Sorry, what did  
you say?"

Ben had a shy smile that was every bit as killer as any of the pearly ones. "I said, I've found a new job.  
I'll be teaching at the University of Chicago in the fall."

"You're kidding." His mouth was having a hard time getting the words around his teeth. His mind was  
having a hard time connecting to the best news he'd heard in years. "That's -- that's great! We're, we'll be,  
like, neighbors."

"Yes." There was that sweet look, right out of last night's dream. "I'll find someplace to live when I get  
there two weeks before classes start. It'll be nice to know someone in the city." Ben's hand was moving up,  
he watched every millimeter of its progress, he could almost feel the tips of Ben's fingers against his jaw.  
Tilting his head toward Ben, he closed his eyes in anticipation.

Nothing happened.

When he opened his eyes, Ben had drained his beer glass. "Well. It looks like we're about done here,"  
Ben announced, and put down his glass firmly.

Ray felt like he was in a time warp back to this morning when he was hung over, with hearty-voiced  
Ben. But he didn't have any good reason to say no. The waitress brought the check at his wave and he  
signed for the meal.

Ben opened and closed his mouth like one of this morning's fish, then found his voice again. "I surely  
didn't expect you to buy me dinner."

"Nah, don't worry. Comes with the hut."

"Thank you, Ray."

It would have been full dark outside if not for the faint lights of the huts on their way and the quarter  
moon above them. On their quiet way back -- all Ray could hear was wind shushing in the palm trees and  
the low sound of the ocean in the background -- Ben said, "I do hate to eat and run, but it's nearly nine  
o'clock. Diefenbaker and I should probably be going. It's a long drive."

Neither of them was wearing a watch. "How did you do that? Can you tell time by the stars or  
something? That's so cool!"

"I have a certain facility with astronomy, although I'm more familiar with the night sky in the  
Northwest Territories, where I grew up. I also know that moonrise should have been about 4:15 this  
afternoon. It's not that hard to make a guess." He waved at the sky, where the moon was almost halfway  
across. "In point of fact, however, there was a clock behind the hostess' area."

Ray could almost hear the superior look.

"Cheater." He smacked Ben's arm lightly, feeling warm prickles all over when Ben laughed. Ben had a  
nice laugh. "You're not going anywhere. You've been drinking, remember?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"No buts. And nobody has to sleep on the floor. The hut has two bedrooms."

"You have two bedrooms in your anniversary bungalow?" Before Ray could even decide whether he  
wanted to answer that, much less how, Fraser flustered through for him, face turned away. "Sorry, it's none  
of my business."

"For the price, it oughta have a marble staircase." Ray was more than happy to let it go. He didn't want  
to talk about his marriage anymore. "I'm stuffed. I could go for a walk."

"That sounds very pleasant. The water's edge will be lovely at this time of the evening."

 

So that's what they did. It was even darker away from the ground-set lights of the huts, but Ben  
seemed to have bat eyes. Ray sauntered behind the attractive blacker spot until his eyes adjusted. This was .  
. . nice. It was almost romantic. He sure had some romance going on for Ben, or at least something like it.  
In Ray's experience, it was hard to tell the difference.

By unspoken agreement, they settled on the cooling beach side by side. The cowabunga waves of the  
afternoon had died, and the only noise was the whoosh-whoosh of the water mumbling into the sand. The  
only light was the quarter moon and its mirror path over the ocean. There was no more breeze, just the soft  
air winding between them. He let it.

"Do you really want to hear a story, Ray?"

"Hell, yeah."

"All right."

But he didn't say anything, so Ray just sat there. He'd been on stakeout for a lot of hours for things less  
important. After a while, Fraser started to talk. His voice was distant, almost like he was talking about  
somebody else.

"We landed in Managua during a cholera epidemic. On July eighth, humidity was nearly one hundred  
percent, the temperature ninety-seven degrees Fahrenheit. The city itself was in shambles. Aside from the  
neglected state of the barrios, a recent earthquake had taken down many buildings and they were crumbling  
into the streets. More than twenty five volcanoes surround Managua; active fault lines run dead center  
through the city. The smell was acrid and the atmosphere was suffocating." He barked out something that  
might have been laughter. "We ate our evening meal at McDonald's."

Holy shit. Ray already had questions lining up and falling over on top of each other, but there was  
something about the way Ben sounded that made him not want to ask right now. So he just said, "Yeah?"

"It was almost as bad in the villages. During the eruption, the sky darkened at noon. Ash was  
everywhere, collapsing roofs, coating trees and houses. People walked with their shirts over their mouths to  
avoid breathing the tiny shards of glass. Our skin itched from the contact. We expected to see some sort of  
official presence, turning people away from the volcano, but there was none of that. Everyone sensible was  
trying to escape the eruption."

Ray snorted. "I bet." He looked carefully at Ben. When most people told stories, they opened up like a  
newspaper. Big gestures and big voices, standing tall and speechifying. Ben was hunched over his knees  
like he had a knife in his gut. Wherever this was coming from, it was way down under, and it looked like a  
good story with a bad end.

"We stayed at a ranch near the village of Rivas, on Lake Nicaragua. In the waters of that lake are the  
only freshwater sharks in the world." Ben made another strange almost-laugh. "There were sharks on the  
land, as well, but I didn't know it then. The head of our expedition, Dr. Hans Soderburg, had handpicked a  
cadre of graduate students from the University of Alaska: myself, a fellow Canadian named Renfield  
Turnbull, and three Americans. There had been debate about who should take the last slot. Two equally  
qualified candidates had applied, and Dr. Soderburg asked my opinion as to who should be chosen. I urged  
him to choose Victoria Metcalfe. She was my lover."

He didn't sound too happy about it. Ray wondered what was coming next in this grim fairy tale. Huh, a  
woman, someone he loved. Ray's dinner congealed a little, rolling over like a medicine ball. Bye-bye love,  
or at least what few hopes he'd had for that.

Ben was lost in space, so Ray called him back. "You went to the volcano?"

Ben jerked, grabbing a handful of sand and squeezing it until Ray wondered if the man could make it  
back into rocks all by himself. "Ah. Yes. We set up our laser equipment and seismographs to monitor earth  
shift. All signs pointed to a strong possibility of eruption. Our hopes were fulfilled beyond our wildest  
dreams."

"What was it like?"

"The eruption itself was formidable. On August fifth, four new vents appeared outside of the main  
crater. Fountains of lava rose 300 meters -- ninety stories -- dwarfing the landscape. Lava temperatures  
were measured at 1,500 degrees Celsius. All of northwestern Nicaragua was shaken by earthquakes up to a  
magnitude of 4.8. Entire villages were evacuated."

"But not you guys."

Fraser turned to him, though he couldn't see what was on his face. "We were volcanologists. We were  
there expressly to film the eruption, should it happen, and monitor the status of the nearby villages. Part of  
our funding stipulated that we put together a program to warn villages of impending eruptions."

"I hope the locals appreciated it," Ray muttered. Ben ignored it.

"The panorama of the eruption at night was fantastic -- in the deepest sense. Burning lava spires lit the  
sky. Incandescent pyroclastic debris showered down relentlessly, coating everything within 1,500 meters,  
and ash rained for kilometers around. Emissions gases created lightning around the cone's mouth, and it lit  
the top of the volcano with a purple glow. Thunder rumbled in the distance. There are no words to describe  
how beautiful and terrifying it was."

 

For the first time since he started, Ray could see Ben's face. His features were barely visible in the dim  
light, but his eyes showed the moon. "Despite the extraordinarily dangerous circumstances we were  
working in, we amassed enormous amounts of valuable data. Our team did exceptional work, and  
everything went much more smoothly than expected. Not long thereafter, our fieldwork schedule was done,  
and we prepared to leave the area. We congratulated each other on our good work and packed up our  
equipment. None of us knew that the real challenges hadn't even begun."

Ben's whole body, what he could see, almost screamed with tension. He was sitting, just breathing.  
Deep breaths. In, out. Slowly he began to relax a little.

"Are you gonna tell me the rest?"

"It's not a good idea, Ray."

"You're gonna leave me hanging at the important part. That's not buddies."

"I . . . I don't think I can."

"You mean you won't."

"I mean . . . I haven't." The tilt of Ben's shoulders looked defeated, almost helpless. "I should go in. I  
need to go in." He shifted to get up.

Ray put a hand on Ben's shoulder and pulled him back down. "No, you don't. I want to know what  
happened." I want to know all about you, Ray wanted to say, but he couldn't. "Please. Tell me." The contact  
seemed to settle Ben down some.

Ben looked searchingly at him, but he wasn't sure what Ben was seeing. It was hard to see anything in  
the dark.

"It's okay. Really. Look, Ben. You gotta get out the dirt before you can sew it up. And this one's been  
dirty for a long time."

"Sometimes I'm afraid it will never come clean." The desolation in his voice made Ray's chest hurt.

Ray moved his hand to the back of Ben's neck and dug into the muscles there. They felt like they were  
about to snap. Ben pressed back into his hand and sighed. It made Ray want to promise him anything, but  
instead he said softly, "It'll be okay."

Ben swallowed and coughed and made a couple of false starts that faded back into nothing. Taking  
another deep breath, he started over.

"The group of us wanted a break, we wanted to celebrate. After we'd packed up all the gear, we  
decided to have a brief sidetrip. We were going to sightsee, and then spend a couple of days in town. We  
drove to Masaya Volcano National Park. It was a park, for God's sake." His voice cracked. "There was a  
visitor center, a parking lot. We went there for -- for -- f-fun."

The solid shoulders shuddered under his hand, and Ray held on tighter. It seemed like the only thing  
that was keeping Ben together right now.

"We were on the trail along the edge of the Santiago crater when we felt seismic waves roll through  
the ground beneath us. That was our only warning. By the time we turned to run, it was too late. The  
explosion crumbled the lip of the crater. The concussion deafened me. The earth dissolved beneath our feet.  
I was holding Victoria's hand when she went down. I could see her screaming, but I could not hear her. Ash  
and debris filled the air." Ray heard him swallow.

"There were bombs, superheated rocks, ejected by the exploding gases. As I was pulling Victoria up  
over the edge, one of them hit her. I almost lost my grip on her hand."

Shit. Oh, shit. Ben was shaking now, silent tremors running through his body.

"It knocked her unconscious. She was badly burned." Ben sucked in some more air. Ray could tell that  
it was an effort.

"By the time I carried her to the parking lot, she had stopped breathing." His face worked, either trying  
to get more words out or to hold them back. He made a sound like tearing cardboard. Tears leaked down  
his grief-blurred face. "Not one of us knew how to do CPR. I tried to revive her using my sketchy  
knowledge, but I could not."

He'd seen a lot of dead guys, even some dead women. But what filled his mind was Stella. Stella hurt,  
Stella . . . dying.

"Jesus, Ben -- oh, God, I'm so sorry!" Ray blurted, and then he was hugging Ben, holding him like the  
guy might go off any second, like he was one of those rock bombs. Ben held himself stiffly, or as stiff as  
anybody could be and still feel like he was ready to shatter.

The next words were so low he could hardly hear them. "That's not all."

Ray was way, way over his head. Ben's bleak words stunned him. "Holy fuck, there's more?" More,  
piled on top of what he'd already heard? "Oh, my God! That's not, I mean -- "

"When we got to Managua, the police were waiting at our hotel. They took us, even the injured,  
directly to jail. They wouldn't allow us medical treatment. They took Victoria's body and would not tell me  
where." He stared off across the ocean. "We didn't have enough money to bribe them to let us go. There  
wouldn't have been enough, regardless. What we didn't know was that they'd already been busy opening  
our crates of samples and equipment. They'd seized the cocaine that Victoria intended to ship back to  
Alaska."

"Fuck!"

"She betrayed . . . she betrayed . . . us." Ben gasped in harsh sobs that felt like they'd tear him apart. "I  
loved her. She was the only woman I ever loved. I screamed her name in a Nicaraguan parking lot as she  
died in my arms." Another wet, ripping breath. "I hated her. She betrayed . . . our trust and left us  
imprisoned, facing justice for her crime. And neither mattered to her, because she was -- was -- dead."

"It's . . . it's . . . Okay, Ben, don't worry, it's gonna be . . ." Ray held Ben tight and rocked him from  
side to side, and mumbled out meaningless words, hoping they'd help.

Ben sounded pulverized by his memories. "We were in jail in Managua for two months before the  
University, the Canadian Consulate, and the American Embassy could get us out. Even then, our release  
was a miracle." Ben scrubbed at his face with the heel of one hand. "The conditions in the jail were . . . bad.  
I'm sure you're aware that Nicaraguan authorities frown upon foreign drug smugglers."

"Fuck." There just wasn't anything else to say. Everything he'd ever heard about jails in third world  
countries flooded his head. Bad food, bad hygiene, bad . . . prison guards. He couldn't stand to think of his  
Pearly Ben anywhere near a filthy place like that.

"Victoria had gone into Managua several times during our stay, and we'd never thought anything of it.  
The only reason they let us go at all was because they had Victoria's drug dealings on tape, courtesy of their  
informant. During her conversations with him, she assured him that the rest of us were not involved, and . .  
. and . . . laughed at our blindness." From the way he said it, it sounded like that was what hurt most.

Enough for one night. Enough for one lifetime.

Ray helped Ben up and they made their not-too-steady way back to the hut. He wasn't sure which one  
of them was more shaky. Even the dog looked up from Ray's bed and whined, came over to lick at Ben's  
hands. Settling the guy on the bed in the 'guest room,' he turned and walked away to go brush his teeth, but  
when he glanced around from the doorway, Ben was still sitting there looking shell shocked, not doing  
anything, Dief nosing his knee.

"Okay, let's get at 'er." He damn well ought to give the guy a hand after dredging up all that shit. He  
wasn't going to get any thanks for it, that was for sure. He gently pushed Ben over and got his shoes off,  
with a little unhelpful help, then grabbed the light blanket off the end of the bed and flipped it over him.  
"Sleepytime. Sandman. All that good -- stuff." He reached over to turn off the bedside lamp.

"Leave it on?" The croak was a sad likeness of Ben's soft voice.

"Yeah -- sure, anything."

After brushing his teeth and kicking off his boots, he went to check on Ben. Looking at his pale-under-  
the-tan face on the white pillow was like standing in quicksand. Up to his knees and the mud was getting  
higher, why fight it? The more he struggled, the faster he'd sink, so he just gave in, brushing a hand over  
the rich dark hair. He smiled to see a couple of funny cowlicks in that perfect hair, but as he thumbed aside  
the hair along the weird spots, he was horrified to realize they were scars.

Ben's scratchy mumble made him snatch his hand away. "They took Victoria away. I tried to stop  
them . . . they struck me with nightsticks to make me let go of her."

Holy God.

"Shh, Ben. Get some rest," he whispered. Pulling the blanket up, Ray was almost overwhelmed by the  
urge to give the man a goodnight kiss -- on the cheek, as if he were a little kid -- but even he had some  
impulse control. Especially when Ben was awake, or some version of awake. He reached down and gave a  
squeeze to the nearest hand. That was okay until he tried to let go. He did, but Ben didn't.

He tugged gently, and Ben's other hand wrapped around Ray's wrist. Not tight, but he'd have had to  
peel the fingers away to get free. To be honest, he didn't really want to. Things could be worse than being  
Ben Fraser's security blanket. He was already in his socks, so he just slid under the blanket with Ben. He  
fell asleep with Ben still holding his hand.

 

Something was funny, something wrong.

He pried opened his eyes, despite the Elmer's. Light inside, still dark outside. Snuffling sounds. Dog,  
wasn't there a dog? When he broke through the fuzz enough to remember where he was and why he was  
sleeping fully dressed, he realized the sounds were coming from the other side of the bed. It was a big bed;  
Ben was curled up facing the far edge. His shallow panting was painful to hear. Did the poor bastard do this  
every night? No wonder he needed a security blanket. Or maybe it was just tonight, because of spilling his  
guts. Either way, Ray should do . . . something.

It looked like a twitch could roll Ben onto the floor, so best to get him back to the middle. Falling out  
of bed was pretty funny, except when you broke the fall with your nose. He reached his arm around Ben's  
chest and started to pull him over.

Bad move.

Ben shouted something Ray couldn't understand and flipped over, leading with his fists. His eyes were  
wide open, but he wasn't seeing anything -- not anything in this room. Ray ducked and held on, doing his  
best to make sure the crazy swings didn't connect, but Ben got in a lucky shot. Shit, that hurt!

"Ben! Ben!" He wasn't getting anywhere. Ben was still struggling, shouting in Spanish. Ray knew  
some of those words from on the street. He used his grip on Ben's arms to move himself up and over,  
stretching onto him full length. It wasn't exactly the way he'd been hoping to press the flesh, but it solved  
the bodily harm problem. "It's okay, buddy, it's me."

To his amazement, Ben took a deep breath, no mean trick with Ray flat out on top of him, and a  
couple of sniffs -- almost like he was smelling something -- and relaxed completely. His eyes closed, peace  
softening his face. There was even a hint of that innocent little smile. "Ray," he murmured, and wrapped his  
arms around Ray's back.

Now what was he going to do? You could explain holding hands. This was another story. He should  
be a good guy and not take advantage, snake his way out and go sleep in that other bed. The big empty one  
with Ray's name on it. He might wake Ben up, but . . . Either way, was it such a big deal? If, in the  
morning, the "hey, you grabbed me" excuse didn't fly . . . but was somebody who'd been through all that  
really going to flip out over a sleepy snuggle? And Ben wanted him there; at least some part of Ben did.

Ben was totally zonked, and Ray didn't think he'd ever woken up. He pressed a kiss against the pulse  
in Ben's neck, loving the feel of the smooth skin and the flow of life underneath it. Bad Ray. Very bad.  
Using Ben for a pillow wasn't what you'd call perfect comfort, what with hipbones and knees and whatnot,  
but Ray's face fit just right into that low dent at his shoulder.

He wanted to stay awake, savor how Ben's ups and downs felt against his own, suck up that body heat.  
His half-hard dick was loving the pressure from Ben's firm thigh. Good thing he wasn't really sixteen  
anymore. That was dessert there, not the main course, and dessert was off the menu. Sugar's bad for you  
anyway, he thought. Toothache Hotel. A friend, that was the full meal deal. He could use a friend, and it  
looked like Ben could, too. It wasn't so hard to pretend a stiffie wasn't really happening.

It was staying awake that was impossible.

 

Early morning light stretched across the bed. Ray yawned and reached into the warm spot next to him,  
but there was nobody there. Last night whanged back into his head like a boomerang on the fly. Oh, shit!  
Was Ben gone already? Would he leave without saying goodbye? Could he be that upset about finding Ray  
in his bed?

Ray scrambled up and skidded halfway across the room in his socks before catching himself on the  
doorjamb and getting his footing. Ben was pouring Dief a bowl of food on the porch. He looked both  
startled and embarrassed when he caught sight of Ray, making a quick turn back to the dog. "Oh. I didn't  
mean to wake you." His words were muffled into fluffy white fur.

Shit, he was. Worse yet, he came back into the room looking serious and nervous, refusing to look  
Ray in the eye. Oh, Christ. Ben couldn't exactly say "Let's just be friends," because they'd never been  
anything else, they'd barely even been friends yet, it was over before it started.

"I'm sorry, Ray."

Ben's shoes were getting a lot of attention these days.

Apologizing, yet. I'm sorry, I have to go, it's been real and it's been nice, but it hasn't been real nice,  
and by the way, I'll let myself out. Ray wanted to apologize too, but he couldn't find the words. Maybe  
because he wasn't really sorry. "Listen, I didn't . . ." I didn't mean to sleep on you, I didn't mean to lust in  
my heart, Jimmy we hardly knew ye.

"I wish I could blame it on the beer," said Ben, rubbing his forehead with a knuckle.

I wish you could too, buddy. "Uh, can't you?"

Ben got over the jones for his shoes, looked up, and blinked owlishly. "What happened to your eye?"

"Nothing. What?" he asked suspiciously, as Ben continued to stare.

"You have a black eye."

Ben raised his hand and Ray watched it all the way this time, all the way to the bridge of his nose. He  
could feel his eyes cross. Ben's fingertips floated just above his skin, barely touching, following the curve  
of his cheekbone. The workman's fingers were warm and gentle. He tried to remember how to talk so he  
could say some kind of answer.

"Oh. Uh. It must have been from when I tried to wake you up."

"Good lord, I hit you?"

Brows scrunched up, Ben looked way more upset than the situation called for. If Ray thought big-eyed  
pleading was effective, confused distress was about to put him in a puddle on the floor. "Not really. You  
weren't awake."

"I apologize for allowing my emotions to get the better of me last night. That must have been very, ah,  
uncomfortable for you." It sure as hell was uncomfortable for Ben. Knees locked and hands behind his  
back, blood was coming up to Ben's face as if his body couldn't hold in all the humiliation. "I very deeply  
regret striking you."

The guy really didn't seem to give a rat's ass about what Ray had or hadn't done, which was . . . good,  
he guessed. "Never mind the shiner. It's no big deal." He waved it away. "You being upset, that was my  
fault. You didn't want to talk. I ragged on you until you told me." He pulled out the bad German accent. "I  
haf vays of mekking you tock," he announced dramatically. It fell flat.

So far from laughing, Ben continued to stare past him, eyes pinched up. There was more.

"I want you to know I've appreciated your company very much." How he got his voice to do that . . .  
The words were nice, bland and pleasant, but something was wrong with this picture. Ben looked sick.

"So, what? You're, what, leaving? I sleep with you and then you toss me away like a snotty Kleenex?"  
What the hell was he saying? Desperation obviously made him crazy.

Ben looked scandalized. "Ray!" Scandalized was a lot better than mortally embarrassed.

"Well, isn't that what's happening here?"

Ben pulled himself up straight. "I have a confession to make." He was still eyeballing the back wall,  
looking like a heart attack waiting to happen. "I wasn't really . . . asleep . . . when I held onto your hand last  
night."

Ben had needed somebody, and he was embarrassed about it.

The warm spot inside Ray, the one that shrank down to nothing when he saw Ben feeding the dog,  
expanded until he felt like a big glowing ball of happy. It shoved out the same kind of honesty. "There's no  
place I'd rather have been." He couldn't even be bothered about tossing out that piece of truth when he saw  
the worry lines vanish from Ben's face. Ignoring his friend's open mouth, he said, "Let's go eat."

 

Ray looked around. Behind him was a vast expanse of gray-black, rolling down all the way to the  
ocean. It was a lot like the Kilauea Crater itself, only tilted -- a spread of rock so big it seemed to suck light  
right out of the air. Up ahead, there was a wide gash in the surface, puffing out smoke. He was really  
beginning to get the idea that the island was alive. He couldn't decide whether that was creepy, or whether  
it was . . . magic.

No wonder the islanders had worshiped the volcano goddess. What else could they think when the  
ground under their feet steamed? Moved? Because someone, somewhere, was making waves.

The lava all around him wasn't as smooth as it looked from a distance. The jarring ride to get there  
proved there was a point to Ben's owning that piece of junk. Who'd put a decent truck through that kind of  
punishment? Although the guy could consider forking over for new shocks, that was for sure.

The truck it was now parked next to didn't look any better. This was definitely where trucks went to  
die.

Right now, Ben was unloading, with a wave at two other people who were marching around looking  
scientific. He was kind of impressed that Ben had invited him, a total stranger practically, to come watch  
his group work. Tourists weren't allowed out here; it was too dangerous. It was no surprise when the other  
rockers came over to see who he was and what he was doing there.

"Ray Kowalski, meet Dr. Renfield Turnbull and his graduate assistant, Brenda Larsen." The tall,  
broad-shouldered man -- they just grew 'em bigger here, it was all the sunshine -- walked with a limp. The  
dark-haired woman, who had to be normal size if on the skinny side, looked like a Barbie doll next to him.

A baseball-glove-sized hand engulfed his own and energetically shook it. "Are you a geologist, Mr.  
Kozlowski?"

"Um, no, cop."

"Then thank goodness you're here! Officer, arrest that fumarole! It's disturbing the peace!" The man  
almost pirouetted, no mean trick for somebody that size, and pointed at . . . nothing, that he could see.

"Come on, Rennie, it's just letting off a little steam," called Brenda, as he galloped off with one hand  
thrust out ahead of him, his index finger and thumb cocked like a pistol, a video camera clutched under the  
other arm.

Turning back to Ray, she said, "Good to meet you." She had a pretty smile. Nice brown eyes, too. She  
took his hand and, pulling him in closer and down a little, whispered, "I see Doc Fraser has good taste."  
With a wink, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and sauntered after the crazy guy, leaving Ray pink-  
faced and staring. Could everybody tell he had the hots for this guy? What the hell did she mean, Doc  
Fraser had good taste?

"Are -- are they all like that?"

"Like what, Ray?"

His confusion whooshed out in a puff. "Like him."

"Renfield is an exceptional scientist. He was with me in Nicaragua. In . . . prison. He attempted to  
defend me from the police the day we were taken. I fear he took the worst of the encounter." Ben's hollow  
tone matched the look in his eyes. "It hasn't interfered with his work. However, socially speaking, he's  
never been quite the same."

Oh, no. "Jesus. I'm. God. Sorry."

"He seems happy, and despite his eccentricities, he's admired and quite well liked in the scientific  
community. I can only be grateful for that."

"Ben! It wasn't your fault!"

"It's over, Ray." Ben ducked his head into the back of the truck, effectively stopping the conversation.

After digging around for while, Ben was loaded down with a vest full of gadgets. He had heavy  
gloves, a coil of multistrand wire over his shoulder, and, on the tailgate, a couple gallons of water and a  
beat-up gallon can. The least Ray could do was make himself useful. "Anything I can carry?" Ray asked.

"Take this." Ben handed him a gas mask. "You can't know when the wind will shift. Without a  
respirator," he pointed at the puffing hole, "the sulfur fumes will turn into acid on contact with the moisture  
in your lungs. That's why these jeans have seen better days -- clothing simply gets destroyed out here." Ben  
gestured at his ripped jeans, but they still looked pretty damn fine to Ray.

Of course, it was more the way they clung to that firm ass and strained against the muscular thighs  
than anything about the denim itself.

"Ah, here we are." He'd unearthed two baseball hats, giving one to Ray and putting the other one on.  
"In case you get too close to the molten lava, this will keep your hair from starting on fire. There's no worse  
smell." His look turned thoughtful. "Except, perhaps, that of a caribou carcass eleven days old. That's . . .  
nearly hallucinogenic."

Ray didn't even want to know how Ben knew that. He just took the gas mask.

"I'd appreciate it if you would carry this for me. I might want to break off some rock samples as well."  
Ben handed him a sledgehammer from the back of the truck like it was made of dryer lint, but the damn  
thing must've weighed twenty-five pounds. Ray tried to look like he hadn't noticed.

 

As they walked uphill, Ben gave him the rundown. "I'm going to throw a few hammers into that  
skylight," he gestured up the hill, again at nothing, what was with these rock jocks, anyway? "to gather  
some samples. Then I'll take the samples to Oahu tomorrow. The sooner they can be analyzed, the better. It  
shouldn't take very long."

Ben pointed out three red square things on tripods perched at the edge of the big hole. "Those are  
Huey, Dewey, and Louie, our heat sensors. We count on them to give accurate readings for lava  
temperature. See those cracks parallel to the lip of Pu'u O'o?"

That would be the stinkhole. Ray squinted. "Yeah, I see 'em."

"Whatever you do, don't get on the other side of one." Ben's smile was shaded with sadness, and Ray  
squeezed his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I won't."

Ray could tell that Ben was already doing the Rock Slide. He was focused, but only partly on what  
was in front of him -- more like on something inside. Whatever it was clicked him like a Bic. He'd never  
seen anybody light up like that over what they did for a living.

"There are lava tubes under the surface, but we've traced the course of flowing lava with infrared  
cameras. Just follow me." He checked some gadget as he walked, and shoved it back into a pocket of his  
vest. The vest seemed to be mostly made of pockets.

"Lava can change its course unexpectedly. You needn't worry too much, although it can be helpful to  
listen carefully. If there is lava flowing just beneath the surface, you'll hear a crackling and popping  
underfoot."

"Oh, terrific. Just before I turn into a crispy critter, I'll be a cereal commercial. What a way to go."

Ben paused at a mound of rock that looked like shiny black cake batter. "May I have that sledge? I'd  
like to take a look at this pahoehoe." When Ray handed it over, he took a thunk at the mound and watched  
as chunks broke away. To his surprise, Ben picked one up, examined it carefully, and . . . licked it.

"Don't put that in your mouth! You don't know where it's been!" It was even more of a surprise to hear  
himself channeling his own mother.

Shaking his head, maybe to get the taste of rocks out of his mouth, Ben looked at Ray. "Of course I  
know where it's been. Given how hot it was just lately, it's probably cleaner than anything else on the  
planet."

"Do you gotta lick it?"

"Once rock is wet, you can observe the grain more easily." That voice again. He could see why  
students would listen to this guy, if they could keep their eyes off his body. "Lava often has phenocrysts,  
large mineral grains that crystallize before the lava is extruded. If there are plagioclase grains aligned in a  
wavy pattern, it's trachytic in texture."

"Yeah." What else could he say? " 'Course it is."

Ben beamed at him. It was almost like a gentle touch. "In any case, licking is a common means of  
identification. In fact, I used to own a t-shirt bearing the slogan, 'Whack, Lick, Look'. It was the joke of my  
undergraduate class at the University of Alaska."

Ray could really appreciate at least some of that sentiment. Looking and licking were kind of tied  
together these days, at least in his imagination. He couldn't very well open that line of discussion, though,  
so he just nodded and they continued on.

The wind was changing, and it brought the faint scent of gunpowder down the unrelieved slope of  
charcoal-gray rock. Right behind the smell came heat, a rolling ball of heat that bowled over and draped  
around him and made him sweat on contact. Ray put out a hand, stopping them. He grabbed and peered at a  
small thermometer hanging from Ben's vest; the temperature was pushing 110. "Is this, uh, does this place  
get any hotter?"

"Very much like the bowels of Hell, Ray," Ben replied cheerfully, resuming his long stride.

"Great, just so I know." Definitely a maniac.

To their left, he could see the really crazy one crouching in front of some rocks, with a video camera  
in his hands. What kind of an idiot would film rocks? Why ask why, when he'd already seen Turnbull in  
action? Oh, wait, the rocks in front of him were . . . moving. Moving toward him. As Ray watched, the  
black surface cracked open like an egg and spawned an orange glob that glowed even in daylight. "Holy hot  
shit, Batman! That's lava!"

They'd come up here for no other reason but to look at lava, but somehow, actually seeing it was  
something else altogether.

"Why, yes, indeed." Ben shot him a full-face grin. "Isn't it marvelous? Renfield is filming the flow  
patterns."

"But he's . . . but it's . . . right there." The goofball and his camera weren't two feet from the toungues  
of lava that reached out for him. It moved a little faster than Ray expected, and every time the molten rock  
caught something in its path, flames flared up almost in Turnbull's face.

"The camera rarely gets hot enough to start melting."

"That wasn't really what I was thinking about."

"Ah. I see." Ben nodded thoughtfully. "Fortunately, Renfield has an almost uncanny understanding of  
the path the lava will take."

It had to be the rocks in his head. "Figures." At least if Turnbull started on fire, they each had a gallon  
of water to pour over him.

"Pardon, Ray?"

"Nothing." He wasn't about to insult Turnbull to Ben's face, even if he was loony.

Ray was starting to wonder if he'd ever get to put down the sledgehammer, not to mention the gallon  
of water, when Ben pointed up ahead. "See that heat rising? That's our destination."

Sure enough, there were heat lines doing the shimmy over a five-foot hole in the rock. As they got  
closer, he could see that inside the opening, about three feet down, was toasty-red lava. And it wasn't just  
sitting there bubbling. Oh, no, this lava was flowing. And it wasn't just a little lava, either, like on the  
surface where Turnbull was. This was a lot, a river's worth, it was the freakin' Amazon of lava, and it was  
roaring right under their feet.

He could hear the rush and rumble loud and clear as it rose from the hole, sound waves wrapped in  
searing heat. There was a roaring river of lava right underneath them, and all that was holding them up was  
however many inches of the stuff got cold enough, fast enough, to freeze in place.

For a few seconds, he froze in place himself, afraid to take another step. As hot as it was -- and the  
temperature was more like the inside of a smelter than the measly 110 degrees a quarter mile ago -- ice  
water dripped down his chest. Then he found himself fighting a sudden urge to run as fast as he could, as  
far as he could go -- anything to get away from this flaming death pit he was standing right on top of.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Ben clapped a hand on his shoulder. He looked perfectly at ease, like any minute  
he'd start whistling a happy tune.

"Freak." His undertone wasn't even a whisper compared to the roar of the lava river, and Ben didn't  
hear him. It was just as well. He cleared his throat, a meaningless noise that was swallowed up by the rest.  
"There's, uh, a lot of it," he said loudly, sounding almost conversational to his own ears.

"The total flow is roughly 500,000 liters per minute."

"Per minute? Say that in American!" Ray demanded, appalled.

"Moana Loa produces enough molten rock from its vents to inundate the entire city of Washington, D.  
C. within five days."

"Whoa." He thought about it. "Y'know, that's not a bad idea."

"Care to help me move this piece of wood over the skylight?" Ben gestured to what looked like the  
remains of a skinny tree laying on the lava field. The lava field that Ray knew now was only an illusion,  
gauze curtains over sizzling death, a false sense of security that could crumble at any second.

"Uh. Yeah. Sure." He moved forward, dreading every footfall as they picked up the tree and moved it  
over the hole. The heat was pushing, pushing, burning him inside and out with every breath.

"I have to do this quickly, before the wood burns," said Ben, casually herding Ray upwind. Not that  
that helped much. He shrugged the coil of wire off his shoulder and twisted the end through a hammerhead  
that somehow materialized from one of his pockets. With a practised toss, he winged the hunk of metal  
over the hanging tree. "Tell me when I'm close."

"It's about eight inches above the river right now." Ray had to close his dry eyes against the heat. His  
t-shirt was sopping with sweat under the long-sleeved shirt that protected his arms.

As soon as Ben felt the tug -- Ray could see the jerk as the lava grabbed the hammerhead -- he set the  
hook, played it, like he had a smallmouth bass on the line. Ben hauled on the wire until it was almost up to  
the tree, then carefully moved to the hot side, like there was a side that wasn't hot, loosening it from the  
tree. He pulled until he had a dangling hunk of metal coated with red-hot lava hanging just over the wood.  
As he made the final pull, the tree burst into flame.

Simultaneously, Ben took a step forward. The hunk of lava he put his left foot on disintegrated under  
his weight.

Ray grabbed for Ben as Ben grabbed for anything, and between the two of them, Ben got hard rock  
under his ass. From there he could stand, upright and not in the river of fire, only to ask, "Ray! Did the  
sample get contaminated? Did it touch anything?"

"No, no, it's okay, you're alive, I mean, it's alive, shit!"

Ben reeled in the red-hot hammer coated with lava and dunked it in the water-filled gallon can, then  
pulled the thing out of now-boiling water and began to chip at it with his real rock hammer. "Perfect." The  
red rage of the lava danced in Ben's eyes. He was smiling, the bastard, laughing, but not at Ray. Ben had  
cheated Pele, cheated her of her lava and cheated her of his life.

Ray was almost gibbering. "I gotta, I'm going, I . . ."

"Yes, yes, that's fine," replied Ben absently, now completely absorbed in whatever the fuck he was  
doing.

Ray had nothing to say, nothing that he could find words for. He put one foot in front of the other and  
walked. Walked away, trying not to think about what just happened, putting some distance between him  
and it. He didn't even noticing the weight of the sledgehammer he'd picked up until a human female voice,  
not the hissing, crackling voice of the Goddess, tweaked him around.

"Hey, you! Ray!" It was Brenda, doing something a ways away by another, more innocent looking,  
hole in the ground. Which he'd never think of as solid ground again. "Bring that sledge over here, okay?"

He peered at the overgrown hammer, wondering why he'd even picked it up. "Yeah. Yeah. Sure." He  
might as well do what he was told, because there was no action from his remaining brain cells right now.  
And he would have done it, too, except that there was this awful noise. The earth shrieked like a friggin'  
banshee -- whatever banshees were, this was one. Never. He never wanted to hear that sound again.

The not-so-solid ground opened up right in front of Brenda.

She shrieked then too, taking a long step back, yeah, not everybody was as fucking nuts as Ben, she  
was shit-scared just like Ray, and she caught her heel on a spike of rock. Down, down she went, not into  
the hole thank God, but down anyway, and when she hit, her head bounced once. The gas mask vaulted off  
its perch on her forehead and disappeared into the covering fog.

Ray was willing to bet that denim was tougher than Brenda's lungs.

"Ben! Ben!" He didn't even know if he was shrieking. He dropped the iron anchor and took off  
running, hoping like hell he'd miss the fissure, the evil down-to-the-hot-place, on his way. He took a big  
breath before he ducked into the smoke, pulling his own mask off its resting place looped on top of his  
shoulder, catching it in his fingers. He found Brenda with the business end of a borrowed field boot, almost  
sprawling right over her. Holding his breath and blinking away the sting, he fixed the mask over her head.  
Now, if only he could hold his breath long enough to get out without losing either of them.

Yeah, fireman's carry, he could remember that. He could do that. His feet took him where his useless  
eyes couldn't, moving as fast as possible out of the clinging acid mist. Stumbling away from the fog, he fell  
to his knees, an extra hundred-some pounds on his shoulder. Strobes of pain flared straight from his knees  
to his gut and made him sway with sudden nausea. Leaning forward, gasping, he dumped Brenda off right  
onto the rock in front of him.

Ouch. Shit, another bang to the back of her head, but at least she'd be alive and using her own real  
lungs when she came to. Ray leaned over her on all fours while his chest heaved for air and he gagged at  
the overwhelming rotten-egg smell; it was up his nose, in his throat, it was everywhere. He was still  
hacking, eyes streaming, when Ben thumped down, red-faced and panting, by his side.

"Are you all right?"

"Sure. Sure. No problemo," he managed, in between trying to spit the metallic taste out of his mouth,  
trying not to spit on the unconscious woman underneath him. Sharp spines of rock dug into his palms, but  
he wasn't sure he could stand up or even kneel up to take the pressure off. Ben was already taking Brenda's  
pulse and checking for injuries.

"I can tell you right now, she's got a hell of a lump on the back of her head." Gag. Spit.

"I radioed for the helicopter; it's on its way. Help should arrive within a few minutes." Ben stared at  
Ray unwaveringly, expression serious, long enough for Ray to wonder what was wrong. "You're a brave  
man, Ray, and you think fast. I'm truly glad for that. Brenda could have been seriously injured."

Embarrassed, Ray looked away. "Not brave," he rasped. "Too stupid to know better." Definitely too  
stupid, when Ben calling him brave had him all squishy inside. Then he firmed up. "Where the hell was all  
this concern when you were about to take a swim?"

"Brenda is a student, Ray," replied Ben, sounding patient. Jeez, he really hated when people were  
patient with him. "We're responsible for her welfare."

"As opposed to your own."

"Well, really, Ray, we -- "

"Brendaaaaa!" He could tell by the bellow getting deeper that it was getting closer, and wasn't that  
physics or something? A second later, all his eye-view was taken up by legs. Turnbull was looming above  
him, a red-faced, snarling Turnbull. He hadn't looked too scary when he was doing the Bolshoi, but he  
looked pretty damned intimidating now.

"What did you do to her? Stand up and face me, you scurrilous cur!" He wasn't just pissed, he was  
downright enraged. Ray was itching to stand up and paste him, but it was just as well he couldn't. It was  
just karmically bad to beat up on the brainless -- plus given the guy's size, it could be unhealthy to try. Too  
bad he found himself standing by surprise, a huge paw dangling him by the scruff of the shirt.

"Renfield. Renfield. Renfield!" Ben broke them apart, Ray staggering aside while Ben grabbed  
Turnbull's arms. "Stop this instant! He's helped her, not hurt her."

"Is that why she's lying there unconscious?"

Okay, Turnbull was crazy, not blind. Why Ray should find that reassuring was anybody's guess.

"It's like this, Renfield . . . " Ben drew the raging Turnbull aside to give him the lowdown.

He heard, over the faraway hiss of Pele and the closer tumble of voices, the thup-thup-thup of rotor  
blades.

 

"I hope you don't mind if we take a little detour on the way to your hotel. There's something I'd like  
you to see."

"I ain't seen nothin' that sucks so far, Ben." Ray was lounged comfortably in the old Jeep's beat-up  
passenger seat, still buzzing. Molten lava, the earth opening up -- never a dull moment around the  
rockhound. It just felt so damned good to know that he'd done something that really mattered. He couldn't  
even think about what would have happened  
in Ben's head if Brenda hadn't made it. As he flipped on the radio and started to sing along under his  
breath, he could feel Ben's smile even though he didn't turn his head.

They pulled off the highway onto a road lined with red-flowered trees. It was pretty, but nothing  
special, and as they wound along the lane, he rapped his fingers on the dashboard in time to the music.

"Patience, Ray." There was indulgent amusement in the rich voice.

He should have known there would be something good. There was always something good, with Ben.  
They pulled into a parking lot next to a beach, and it took a minute for his brain to register what he was  
seeing. It looked like a freaky negative -- everything else was like a real beach, except the sand was black.  
Not brownish or dull dark gray like the lava fields, it was a rich blanket of black. He couldn't resist  
grabbing a handful and watching the tiny black bits shine in the sun.

Ben was ragging on the dog. "Don't even think about bothering the other people on the beach. Or  
you'll have to go back into the truck." Just as if the damn dog would understand. He sure did seem to, as he  
wandered off to do his own thing in the underbrush north of the beach. Instructions taken care of, Ben  
turned back to Ray.

"Unlike other black sand beaches, many of which are created by erosion of already-hardened lava, this  
one was created when a red-hot lava flow met the ocean and exploded into glassine granules."

"Cool." Rock stuff held a lot more interest for him these days. "I wish I'd been here to see that."

"It happened before our time. About 1745."

"Thursday, April 12, 1745?"

"I believe you're right, Ray." Straight face; damn, he was good at that. Ray decided he liked it, but  
there was no way he could compete with Ben's control, so he just smiled at the beach.

They were walking along the rocky shore on the west side of the bay, far away from the little gaggle  
of sunbathers near the parking lot, enjoying the warm rays of the afternoon sun and the rolling of the  
waves. Ben was explaining that the green stuff growing on the rocks down by the water was limu, tasty  
dinner to sea critters, so Ray moved down to the edge of the rocks to get a closer look at it. It looked like  
green Saran Wrap. When Ben stopped abruptly, Ray almost walked straight into him.

"Look, Ray! Turtles!" Ben reached out one hand to point, bumping Ray's shoulder with his on the  
way. Ray had all his weight on one foot to turn around at the exact same time. He slid on the slimy green  
stuff on the rock and belly-flopped into the surf with a howl, scaring any and all turtles into Tuesday.

He sat up spitting, his mouth full of salt water, jesus, that sucked. The wave action jerked the sand and  
his legs out from under him so he couldn't stand. Ben waded in, shoes off, to give him a hand up. Ray knew  
without even looking -- his eyes were full of dissolving hair gel anyway -- that the guy was right in  
between acting all sorry and busting out laughing. Huh. For a really smart guy, he sure looked surprised  
when Ray clasped his hand firmly and pulled him down into the drink.

When he did it, he hadn't been thinking about what it would be like to have a wet heavy lug of Ben on  
top of him, but he sure as hell found out. It was good. Even if the first thing Ben did was to grab him by the  
shoulders and duck him, all the while cackling like a nutcase.

Spitting and sputtering when he came up, his face was right by Ben's. They were eye to eye. Ben was  
still grinning, and it only took a gentle hand cupped along his cheek to tilt them mouth to mouth. When Ray  
closed the inches and lighted on Ben's mouth, the soft lips were already parted.

There was no way on earth he could resist mining the flavor that was Ben. Sweet, pretty Ben, salty  
with ocean and hard against his chest as they knelt in the water. Ray nibbled and sucked, licking away the  
salt and diving in to find the rest of what he needed. He held Ben's face between his hands and went to  
town. Warm, as wet as all outside, sweet and tangy just like he knew it would be, and a wave came  
crashing right down on their heads. Foam swirled around them.

He hadn't been breathing anyhow; maybe this was a good time for a break. Since he realized now that  
Ben wasn't kissing him back. Oh, shit.

When he broke away, Ben's face was slack with surprise. There was no telling if that was good or bad.  
It made him look younger, more vulnerable. Color flared up his pale cheeks. Then, Ray saw determination  
in the narrowed eyes.

When Ben raised a fist out of the water, Ray flinched. Christ, even fish had more backbone than he  
did. Take it like a man. But instead of popping him one, Ben wiped Ray's wet hair away with his knuckles.  
He put that big hand on the side of Ray's face and stroked his cheekbone with a thumb. When he spoke,  
Ray more read his lips than heard the words.

"I want to."

"Come on," said Ray, and opened his arms.

Kissing was even better with Ben wrapped around him. The water sloshed them as their lips touched,  
tentative at first, trying not to take too much. That didn't last long. He'd started getting cold when Ben  
backed off, not all of it from the outside, but he was heating up pretty damn quick now. The water all  
around them should have been steaming. Big hot body under his hands, hot wet mouth on his, sloppy dirty  
kisses with the clean taste of Ben.

Ben, who blushed like a girl but kissed like a man.

Ray could feel the wet constriction of his jeans, the roughness of soaked cotton underwear against his  
dick, the way his clothes pulled and rubbed with the roll of the water. His nipples were painfully hard from  
the drag of his shirt and Ben ranged up against him, so demanding and intense. He pulled Ben's shirt out of  
his pants, his hands full of the wide-muscled back.

They all but mauled each other, hands slipping and groping everywhere, Ben fucking moaning into his  
mouth. He couldn't believe what that sound did to him; he had salt water and Ben both pounding in his  
veins. Broad hands pulled at his ass to get more pressure, aiding and abetting as the waves rocked them  
from side to side. Push and pull.

The iodine smell of the ocean lingered on the cords of Ben's neck; salt stung his eyes as a whimper  
climbed out of his throat. Half-words growled out between them, along with some noises he was pretty sure  
he'd never made before. Rock and roll and he twisted his hips to get right up against Ben's hard cock with  
his. The waterlogged cotton only doubled the friction.

That got to Ben in a big way; he pulled his mouth away and cried out, eyes closed against the sun, tiny  
water drops in his eyelashes. The noise disappeared into the surf. Panting hard into Ray's ear, he thrust up  
again and again, his hands on Ray's hips, his weight holding Ray down so that his knees ground into the  
sand.

"Oh, yeah, Ben, come on, come on . . ."

And Ben did, with a stifled grunt, pressing his cheek against Ray's.

"Yeah, oh yeah." He rubbed both hands up and down Ben's back; the guy was still shaking, hey! --  
Ben was pulling off, backing away as fast as he could on his knees, in water up to his chest. His face was  
the color of a cocktail cherry.

Who knew that color really happened in nature? This man was nothing if not nature. Ben licked his  
kissed-up lower lip and twitched. He looked like if he was standing up, he'd fall down. He could hardly  
choke the words out.

"I, ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just . . ."

"You nut. Get your ass back over here."

Ray stuck out his hand. In the pit of his stomach, he had a feeling that even though it was just his hand  
held out there over the water, that wasn't all it really was. It felt like more. It felt like they'd been reaching  
for each other forever. It felt like being in one of those stupid foreign movies where everything they did had  
some sort of big significance instead of it being what it really was, which was nothing but his hand.

Still, when Ben met him in the middle and tightened his hand on Ray's, a mushroom cloud of happy  
lifted up through him that had nothing to do with his still-hard dick.

"Y'know, Ben, I never, uh . . . I never had a summer romance before." Funny how that happy feeling  
pushed weird shit out of his mouth. He ought to damn well be blushing himself. Was he this bad with  
Stella, back in the day? Thank God he couldn't remember. Right now, he could barely picture Stella.

He could feel the dippy smile all over his face.

"I never have either." Ben held onto his hand and stared at him almost solemnly.

"Want to be my first?" To Ray's surprise, an odd look passed over Ben's face. It almost looked like . . .  
disappointment. Dark spiky-wet lashes shut those tell-tale eyes before he could figure it out. Did Ben not  
want to mess with somebody who wasn't experienced? Did he not want to get . . . romantic?

Maybe that wasn't the way he liked guys -- if he liked guys, if this wasn't some kind of bizarro go-  
along because Ray wanted it. Maybe guys were just for getting off. Fuck, the water was cold here. Ray  
shivered. But then when Ben looked up, he was smiling, lips quirked to one side, so it must have been all  
Ray's imagination.

"Yes, Ray. I'd like that."

"Catch of the day." Ray grinned out his relief and reeled Ben in for a kiss. Two kisses. No, one kiss  
that never quit. He had this feeling that he was wrinkling, shriveling up, lost in the water, but he couldn't  
stop. Ben's lips were so soft and kissable, and his shoulders were so broad and holdable, that there was no  
way he could let go. He was hard, so hard he had his own goddamn fishing pole, but it couldn't be nice to  
just climb all over your summer romance and get yours. Not too romantic.

Was that what Ben was embarrassed about before? Wow, he should tell him not to be. Being climbed  
on by Ben just about took the top of Ray's head off.

Good idea or bad idea? He couldn't decide. His mind wasn't even in his pants anymore. Not his own  
pants, anyway. It was, oh, God, it was in the palms of his hands with that fine beautiful perfect ass, the  
nicest ass he'd ever seen, and it was ten times better to touch it than look at it. Right now the muscles were  
tensed to keep them both upright, since Ray was all wound around him and no help at all. Ben's legs were  
spread, Ray's thighs wedged in between them while he groped that ass, rolling his palms against the curves  
and squeezing with his fingers.

He clamped down on Ben's salty neck, smooth and firm under his teeth, and it was everything he'd  
fantasized about for the last ten thousand minutes. All of a sudden he didn't care about romantic, he was  
climbing and riding whether he wanted to or not. He really was still sixteen where it counted, and right now  
it counted in his cock. He was banging at Ben's crotch in the slow-motion water, the feeling exploding hot  
and hard with every move. His control was out the fucking window -- until --

"Wait. Wait."

Oh, fuck, no, not . . . He was, he was so . . . so close -- he couldn't breathe. But Ben was pushing him  
away and gentling him somehow at the same time, no, he wouldn't do anything Ben didn't want; even  
getting petted by those long squared-off fingers was still better than nothing. They moved slowly along his  
face and paused at his jaw. For a second he thought he was about to humiliate himself totally; his eyes were  
burning like hell and he knew what would happen next, until Ben said, "Can I touch you?"

He just moaned; he couldn't think. His head was as empty as his cock was full.

Ben took pity on him at last and wrenched open the button and yanked at the zipper -- ow, that hurt.  
He was so sensitive from the grate of wet cotton that he could hardly bear Ben's touch, even as he pushed  
frantically into it. His knees were sunk in the sand and they were the only thing he could feel that was  
stable any more. God, the water was so cold and Ben's hands were so hot along his dick, smoothing out the  
kinks that started in his gut and burned all the way down to Ben's solid grip.

At first, his hips had Ben's rhythm. He was on total disconnect from anything left in his head. He was  
rocking on the water, rocking with the give and take of the hand on his cock. It couldn't have been much  
time, but it seemed endless, an endless flowing ribbon of pleasure. The garbled sounds in his throat blocked  
out even the crashing surf.

Then, just that quick, he lost everything, all contact with Ben and with reality. He was floating; the  
orgasm wrenched everything else away. He totally got it, now, that he was ninety-nine percent water, and  
what it really meant. It meant he was the water and the water was him, and nothing else mattered. He rolled  
and jerked and groaned with what felt like his last breath.

He didn't register anything else until he realized he was in Ben's arms, and Ben was holding him tight.  
He was still trying hard to get a grip as Ben smoothed his hair back and dropped kisses along his  
cheekbone. Yeah. Yeah, that was good. That was so . . . good.

The voice purred along his bones, over the sound of the waves. "You're all wet, Ray."

He rolled his eyes, even though he knew Ben couldn't see him. A smile wound its way lazily along his  
lips. His whole body was Silly Putty. "Fuck you."

"Later?" It was half question, half tease. He thought maybe Ben surprised himself. A chuckle sounded  
in Ray's ear. "I'm quite drenched myself, right now."

Even the thought of fucking Ben didn't put any starch in his shorts. "We can go, but you'll have to  
carry me."

The next thing he knew, there was a shoulder in his stomach and he was hanging over it.

"Shit!"

"I'm a very literal man, Ray."

And he'd have complained, loudly, if he honestly thought he could walk. Ray let Ben haul him up over  
the rocks, onto the sparkling grit. He let Ben pull off his wet jeans and shirt, then watched him do the same,  
savoring the first look at Ben's naked body. The guy wasn't just a brick house; he was an architect's dream.  
He was hotter than the tropical sun. Ray didn't even know what kind of cosmic payback a vacation like this  
might call for later, but he was too exhausted and high to be a pessimist right now.

There was still plenty enough sun to drive away the chill, limp as they were on the warm black sand,  
arms around each other. The rumble of the waves and the swish of the breeze in the palm fronds lulled him  
to sleep against Ben's chest. If anyone wandered over that far, exploring along the water's edge, Ray never  
knew it.

 

From a ways away, a dog barked.

Ray stirred, coolish and uncomfortable. Hard mattress. Sheets were crap in this place, scratchy. Rough  
against his hip when he squirmed for a better spot. The sound effects were nice, though, and he let the  
round low rush of the water in one ear blend with the flat steady thump against the other, until he woke up  
enough to realize that the skin under his palm didn't belong to him. That there was no soft handful of breast  
under that nipple. That he wasn't in bed.

He sat straight up in one move, neverminding that his left arm was still asleep. Grabbing a still-damp  
shirt, he pulled it on as best he could, fighting his way into the sleeves. Pins and needles shot up to his  
shoulder. With the next move he threw the other shirt over Ben's dick. Holy shit, he'd never been in a  
position to get busted for indecent exposure or worse. Not to mention getting burned -- in places that hadn't  
seen the sun since he was three. A quick look around showed that the beach area was empty now.

His heart started again.

He hadn't freaked out thinking about men's asses; under the circumstances, it was a desperation case.  
Like the weather. Everybody talks about it, but nobody does anything about it.

Now, he wasn't quite sure what to think.

Now, when he was doing something about it.

He never did understand why people mouthed off about where other people got theirs. Still, he'd heard  
plenty of crap. Cops were not rainbow warriors. And ever since Stella was just a kid, he'd heard about it  
from her, too. Who knew where she'd picked it up? Could have been just growing up in a gang  
neighborhood. Stella had her ideas and nobody changed 'em. Walking in the park with her, holding hands,  
was the first time he'd ever seen two guys walking together, doing the same thing.

A high-pitched, "Look at those faggots over there!" was helped along by a pointy elbow in his ribs.  
Stella always made sure he was paying attention, and she didn't make any effort to keep her voice down.  
He'd hoped she wasn't gonna throw a hissy. He hoped they were too far away to be heard.

"Aw, come on, Stel, just ignore 'em." He couldn't help staring either, though. There was something  
about seeing two guys so close together.

"Cocksuckers." Her scathing tone made Ray's skin crawl. What else didn't she like?

He distracted Stella by pulling her behind the nearest bushes. Her lips were a lot sweeter when they  
weren't saying nasty shit about people just doing what they wanted to do.

Ray shook his head, letting the memories fall out his ears.

By the time he looked back down, Ben's eyes were open. He didn't say anything, just looked at Ray,  
eyelids lazy with sleep, mouth curved unmistakeably up. Holy shit, he could just feel himself being pulled  
into that look, like the way he got pulled into the quicksand last night. Being in Ben's look was so warm, so  
good. If this was what faggot was all about, he was along for the ride as of here and now.

"I see you found my shirt." Ben's snoozy voice woke up his nerve endings all over. The breeze against  
the cool, damp cotton lifted chills along his arms. Sure as hell, the button-up he was wearing was on Ben's  
back this morning. No wonder it had some extra room. He started to pull it off, but it was almost as much  
of a struggle as the wetsuit. For a second he had the weird idea that the shirt didn't want to come off.

Or maybe it was just that Ray didn't really want it to.

A warm hand around his wrist stopped him. "I like it on you." Ben looked him up and down, a long,  
slow slide of attention that had the blood prickling in Ray's face. It had to be decades since he'd been this  
self-conscious. He shifted a little so the tails of the shirt hid his lap. Ben noticed, and raised an eyebrow.  
"The proper shirt can cover a multitude of . . . sins." His tone left no doubt as to what kind of sins he was  
interested in.

He couldn't come up with a snappy answer. "Yeah, sure, see if you ever get your proper shirt back." It  
was the best he could do. His brain was obviously hiding down there under the shirttails.

"I think I can live with that."

That would leave Ben wearing Ray's t-shirt. But it was still kind of wet and it was really too tight for  
that deep chest; it would show every . . .

"Yeah. Me, too."

The ride back up to his hotel was kind of a blur. Ray's head was full of the man next to him and what it  
felt like to pant in his ear. What it felt like to grab him and be grabbed by him and come hard, screaming.  
He was dry on the outside, but inside, he was still swimming. They didn't talk much on the way.

Good thing Ben Fraser kept towels in his swim bag and took the thing wherever he went, since that  
was what they were both wearing from the waist down. Hawaii, he guessed, was a good place to be  
prepared. The girl behind the counter at the convenience store where they bought snacks paid no attention,  
like she saw grown men dressed in towels every day, and maybe she did.

Ray shared his Cheetos with Dief, ignoring Ben's raised eyebrow. They closed their jeans in the back  
windows, legs inside, and let them flap in the wind as they drove. From the crotch up, they were dry by the  
time they pulled into the parking spot behind his hut.

Ray picked up the newspaper that had been left at his door.

"Jesus, Ben, that poor kid died at the hospital. He was on something. They say it's some new kind of  
drug."

Ben paused in the act of putting down a bowl of food for the dog.

"The Hawaiian Islands are a major crossroads for drug traffic. Even this paradise, with no native  
snakes of its own, has had vipers introduced." Ben closed his eyes, and the lines radiating from the corners  
made him look a lot older. "Sometimes I just wish there was something I could do about it." Shaking his  
head, he continued. "Yes, I've seen reports that there's a new drug available on the streets -- so new they  
don't even know what it does to the human body, except as they find the fatal results of over-indulgence."

Painful subject, yeah. Shit.

"Hey! Why don't we get a shower before dinner?" He felt kind of like a cat in a litterbox, trying to  
cover it up. He was relieved when Ben ducked into the bathroom, took the first shower without getting all  
polite about it. What was so polite about all that, "Oh, no, you go first," stuff, anyway?

Today's view from the lanai was just as pretty as yesterday's. Ray shook his waterlogged thoughts like  
Dief after a swim. This whole thing, the sex thing, was strange. Ben was strange, yeah, but beyond that, he  
was also a stranger. Ray felt like he knew Ben down to the ground, but they'd only met two days ago. Ray  
had never done it with anybody he didn't -- well, anybody, for that matter. Except Stella. And they'd been  
together for two years before they finally did it, not that he hadn't wanted to.

 

"Just because I come from a shitty neighborhood doesn't mean I'm a whore," she'd say firmly, almost  
angrily, when she pulled his hand out of her panties. He figured it was more the effect of living with her  
mom, who wasn't around much, and when she was, seemed to have an endless supply of boyfriends.  
Enough so that he wondered if money was an object. So Stella was pretty much a prude about everything,  
not just guys together.

And that was another thing all by itself. As nice a guy as Ben obviously was, and as pretty as he was,  
he was still a guy. He hadn't given that any real thought, just listened to his dick. Who knew it could get so  
pushy? Sure, Ray'd been walking around for a couple months with asses on his mind, and the half moon of  
a woman's ass looked a lot like the one Ben had. Ben's ass was better, but Ben's ass was still Ben's ass.  
Everything that was a little fuzzy in Ray's fantasies was all of a sudden standing, big as life, in his shower.

This attraction -- this thing he felt for Ben -- was a little . . . okay, it was a lot. Whatever the hell it  
was, it was definitely a lot. This could be his only chance. They might see each other in Chicago, or Ben  
might be with somebody else. Ben didn't seem like he'd love 'em and leave 'em . . . even though he had to  
be a chick magnet, his place up on the mountain was not the Love Shack. But, as Ray well knew, stuff  
happened. He couldn't count on a month from now or two months from now. Hell, not everybody could  
depend on tomorrow.

Then again, what if Ben wanted to keep his ass to himself? Maybe a shower and dinner was all he  
really wanted, despite his talk about fucking. It wasn't right for Ray to assume anything else. There was no  
telling whether Ben still wanted to do the horizontal hula. Men talked crazy after their brains spewed out  
their dicks.

'Will you marry me?' had to be at least in the top ten, he thought ruefully.

Somehow, he had to get his head straight, yeah, the big one and the little one, and not lay his fucked-  
upness on somebody he barely knew. He still remembered some stuff from the marriage counselor. He  
wasn't a half-assed kind of guy, but the two full-bore options -- jumping Ben as he came out of the  
bathroom vs. running away screaming -- no, they just didn't make it, either one.

He was so wound up that he almost did scream at the warm handprint on his shoulder. He whipped  
around reflexively, his right hand reaching for the small of his back. Thank God there was nothing there.

"Sorry, I thought you heard me."

Ray saw the mouth move, but barely registered the content. Ben on his deck, bare-chested, seemed to  
be loaded with more meaning than "Ben doesn't have a clean shirt." Maybe it was because Ben was about  
two inches away. Jumping the guy was looking more and more like the right choice. Too bad Ray was  
frozen in place. It was the 'ice' in 'indecisive.'

Ben was wearing the ripped-up jeans again. His only alternative was a Speedo, Ray remembered. Both  
were good choices. Ben had a farmer tan that would be a joke on anybody else. It was beautiful. The  
contrast of browned arms, with their fine sun-bleached hair, against the creamy, untouched skin of his torso  
was DaVinci. The triangle of tan at the base of Ben's neck pulled his eyes like a magnet.

Dammit, didn't any part of his body want to take orders anymore?

Helplessly, he followed a drop of water down the smooth, pale path from collarbone to waistband. He  
watched as the drop touched the denim and bloomed into a tiny damp spot. Under that -- was he really  
seeing what he thought he was seeing? Oh, yeah. The vertical line of Ben's fly was getting less up-and-  
down and more curved forward.

Holy fuck. He was watching the guy get a hard-on. Ben was getting hard from him watching. That was  
just, it was just . . . So. Fucking. Hot. He could feel his own dick push denim in response. He tried to clear  
his throat, but ended up just making a strange noise.

A firm hand caught his chin, tilting his head back. The deck railing was digging into his ass in back,  
and Ben's denim-covered cock was rubbing against his in front. There was nowhere else to go. Deep down,  
Ray was glad about that. The decision was made for him -- what little there was left to decide. His lips  
parted on their own for a kiss. He could hardly think over the wolf-howl of his dick.

"Open your eyes, Ray." The sound of his name was urgent on Ben's lips. "Talk to me."

Was there something to talk about?

"Yes."

For a split second, he thought Ben was psychic or something. But no; it was just his loose lips sinking  
ships. He opened his eyes, knowing damn well that his horniness and confusion was written all over his  
face. How the hell did he do so good at undercover when he wore everything he felt like a tattoo?

"Have . . . have you done this before?" Ben's voice was totally wrong. A good hundred seventy pounds  
leaned up against Ray. With those too-tight jeans full of hard cock, Ben's body was all, "Sex, now!" But he  
sounded a little . . . lost.

"Uh. Well, not exactly." It was really tough to get the words out without panting. "You'll be my guinea  
pig."

Long pause. Uh oh. There was an uncomfortable amount of nothing coming out of Ben's mouth.

"That's okay, isn't it?" Some more silence, with what had to be an equal amount of horniness and  
confusion on Ben's face. A year or so later, he spoke.

"Ah. I'm afraid that this is a brave new world, Ray."

What the hell next? He burst out laughing, shaking his head at Ben's frown. "Hey, that's great! We can  
bash each other with our elbows in delicate places and nobody has to be embarrassed."

A yelp of laughter echoed in Ben's chest. "I should have known I could count on you for a fresh  
outlook, Ray."

"Oh, hell, yeah. Fresh, that's what they call me."

Ben was so close he could smell his toothpaste. It wasn't PearlWhite. Warm breath whispered into his  
ear. "Then why do I want to despoil you?"

He was saved from answering by Ben's mouth. It settled over his, gently but firmly. Ben's lips were  
drier than he would have thought, but everything was different on land. Here, nothing held him up except  
Ben, when his knees lost traction and didn't want to do it. There was nothing moving him except the  
shudders, the ones that seemed to start at his lips and bang off the inside of his skin down to the soles of his  
feet.

The early evening breeze ruffled his hair as he tried to find Ben under the mint. It felt like an extra  
hand, sending messages from his scalp to everywhere.

Ray was spoiled already. Nobody else could possibly kiss like Ben. It wasn't just lips, and that was the  
only kind of kissing he knew about. The tongue snaking the arch of his teeth was just a bit player. Kissing  
Ben was a full-body blast, from the hands making their way down to his back to the denim scuffing his  
legs.

He was still wearing the damned towel. The thing could give at any time, and it would be pretty  
embarrassing to have it fall right off his ass. He didn't have much to hold it up, after all. Except unless it  
just hung like a flag off the end of his cock.

God, he was a mess. What was he thinking? Ben had already seen his naked body. He just wasn't used  
to thinking naked. Especially not thinking naked with a soft mouth working down his neck, behind his ear,  
along his jaw. The dampness from Ben's tongue left a cooling trail across sensitive skin. The man himself  
pulled the neck of the shirt back inch by inch, biting lightly along the top of Ray's shoulder. Ray could feel  
every tooth, even the crooked one. Especially the crooked one.

"Now . . . now you're, uh, jesus . . . tasting me." He was stupid, yeah, and he didn't even have to get  
fucked stupid, 'cause Ben could do everything, anything, just with his tongue. Oh, Christ, what did  
everything mean to guys? What could, or would, Ben do with his tongue? The way he was going after  
Ray's neck, he wouldn't be shy about it, and Ray was already swirly-headed. What would everything be  
like?

"You taste -- ah -- you are delicious." Ben was sounding a little messed up himself. "Don't mind if I  
have . . . another bite."

An almost-painful nip at his earlobe took Ray by surprise. His back arched sharply, giving him an  
extra jolt from skin skidding against warm, moist skin. They were so tight up against each other that Ben  
must have button prints in his chest. His knuckles hurt from hauling against Ben's belt loops, but the  
pressure on his terry-covered dick was exquisite. He squirmed, whimpering into the curve of Ben's neck.

He'd never thought he could break a sweat wearing a towel and a flapping shirt, but Ben's body heat  
was making fusion. He knew damn well his molecules were excited. Must be a law. Energy equals Ben  
times Ray. He could feel it all around him, being stirred by the breeze. It crackled from nerve to nerve,  
even where Ben wasn't touching him.

He couldn't take it any more, his head was spinning, shit, he had to get some air before he passed  
fucking out. He pushed at Ben's slick chest, accidentally-on-purpose thumbing across two hard nipples on  
the way -- that at least gave him an inch or two of breathing room -- and looked into a pair of dazed eyes.  
Staring into them, reaching for brain power, he finally figured out that they had moved, were still moving.  
Trying to ask where or maybe why, all Ray could get out was a questioning mumble.

It was right about then that the towel called it quits. When Ray made that noise and moved a little, Ben  
pulled back too, and the towel slithered straight down onto their bare feet.

The soft evening air was all around him.

Looking down, Ben sucked wind. "Oh, dear."

"Oh, shit." Like getting bonked with that rubber hammer, he let go of Fraser and dropped, grabbing  
the towel. About the time his hands were full of towel and his face was flush with the bulge in Ben's jeans,  
he wondered what the hell he was doing. Then he decided he was probably in the right place at the right  
time.

The towel turned out to make an okay kneepad.

Curiosity killed the cat, he thought, as he scratched a fingernail down the fly. Ben's gasp made him  
look up. He'd never seen a man's chest from that angle before. The guy was sweating outright now,  
showing muscle, pecs tense. Ben was a lot bigger, taller, broader from down here. His eyes were half-mast,  
looking at Ray like he was a tall cold one on a long, hot day. The sun coming in through the door  
highlighted the sheen across his chest. He was dangerous, all right.

Absolutely fucking killer.

He ran the same finger under the waistband of the jeans just to see Ben's skin flinch, then wrestled the  
button. It took both hands and all the concentration he could muster to open the damn thing, but the zipper  
slid down real sweet, open sesame, and Ben's cock popped out in his face. Because Pearly Ben wasn't  
wearing any underwear.

He didn't know why that shook him up a little, but it did.

There was a heartfelt groan as Ben's cock swayed in front of him like something that uncoiled out of a  
basket. Yeah, unpacking that was some serious relief. Lord, he'd thought Ben was about the same size as he  
was. It sure looked bigger when he looked it in the eye; it was red-hot and begging for attention. He moved  
a hand up toward it, then wavered.

"Can I, uh . . ." Way to go, Kowalski. The fuck! Was he turning Canadian, or what? There were times  
to be polite, but this was not his sainted granny's birthday party. This was another kind of party altogether.

Ben only said, "Please do, Ray." His shaky voice ground down to a hoarse whisper. "Do . . .  
anything."

Holy wow, holy cow. This was awesome, it was unbelievable, it was greatness. But what was he  
supposed to do? "Anything" left a lot of latitude, but he was at the equator now. Or at least a hell of a ways  
from Chicago.

He reached up and touched it carefully with the tips of his fingers, as if it might turn on him. Ben's  
stomach muscles jumped, and his dick jumped up, too. Startled, Ray almost jerked back when it moved by  
itself. He should remember they had minds of their own -- God knew his had caused enough trouble back  
in the day. Hell, enough in the twenty-four hours.

Hard-ons were supposed to be threatening, weren't they? Manly. Tougher-than-you. Phallic symbols  
were for a reason. He'd seen enough National Geographic pictures as a kid to know those gigantic dildo  
things on the natives weren't there to keep their dicks from falling off.

From Ray's-eye-view, though, Ben's was kind of . . . pretty. Soft and flushed and it looked vulnerable,  
even when it was standing up proud. It was the foreskin. He'd never seen an uncut cock before. It wasn't  
slid all the way back; it was like a tiny turtleneck -- made Ben's equipment seem a little shy or something.  
The head peeked out, looking for a friendly touch.

Enough waffling. Listening to his dick got him here, didn't it? So he should listen to Ben's, now.

Ray reached up and wrapped a hand around the shaft. It firmed even more in his hand -- a familiar  
feeling, only pointing at him. A long, slow exhalation told him Ben had been holding his breath. Well-  
washed cotton crumpled under his left hand. Ben smelled good. Somehow that wild outdoor smell of the  
ocean still clung to him, even over the soap. Salt and ocean. They'd forever mean Ben in his head.

The skin was so soft, and there was so much of it, different from all the times he'd touched himself. He  
smoothed the foreskin up and down with the circle of his thumb and forefinger, fascinated by the slick drop  
he coaxed out. It was almost as good as the little noises he heard from above. Then he rubbed the backs of  
his knuckles along the vein, sliding down to Ben's balls, brushing against the hair there.

Ben shivered, which made Ray feel better. It meant he wasn't the only one feeling shivery.

He tried an experimental stroke all the way down. It tightened up the skin and made Ben's pretty red  
cock look bigger, vein-ier, needier. Then all the way up, up over the head, pulling and rubbing. That got big  
applause. Ray felt a surge of triumph when Ben's hips started to move, jerking a little backwards and  
forwards, like he couldn't help himself.

God, it looked good. Hot. Hot and tasty.

Ben, standing there in the middle of the room, feet spread, jeans hanging above his knees, hard dick  
shiny with the slick Ray was spreading, was good enough to eat. It gave Ray kind of a dirty little thrill to  
even think about that. Sucking dick, yeah, that would make him -- what, different? Somebody he wasn't  
already? Or maybe just the same lonely man he'd been for months now, with something new in his mouth.

Fuck it all.

He was fucking eating the guy with his eyes, anyway. Didn't that make him some kind of hypocrite?

Leaning in, not looking up at Ben because he didn't want to distract himself and besides this was  
potentially really embarrassing, he just kept going. His eyes unfocused, but that was okay. Kept him from  
second thoughts, or at least any more of them.

Okay, tough guy. Time to get to business. Time to push away the Stella voice in his head, the nasty  
one, the one whispering, "Cocksucker." She didn't do that. Had never. No penises came between her virgin  
lips. So what the fuck did she know? And sucking cock didn't sound so bad right now, anyway. With a  
deep breath, he stuck out his tongue. Took a lick. Tasted Ben. It wasn't . . . okay, it was a little weird. But it  
wasn't bad. It was . . . nice.

Now, there was a word he hadn't thought of. Nice. But it was true, it wasn't disgusting or dirty or  
gross, or even sexy in quite the way he thought it'd be. The tender skin tasted kind of sweet, and Ben was,  
like, the essence of clean anyway. Inside and outside. He licked along the shaft, bathing it with his tongue  
just for good measure. Sweet and juicy and just right in his hand, and Ben seemed good with him drooling  
all over it.

Better than good, if Ray was any judge.

The thing was bigger than it looked, it was the world's biggest all-day sucker, or was that Ray? It was  
work, opening up for it. He wasn't even going to make all night at this rate, if he didn't figure out how to do  
it. He was trying not to scrape with his teeth -- the tooth marks were never going to come out of the inside  
of his upper lip. Ray had no idea what the fuck he was doing. With any luck, Ben was too horny to care.

He tried his damnedest to just go up and down without strangling himself.

The sexy part was not the slippery head against his lips or the taste of gonna-come, it was the way Ben  
was going nuts that made his head spin, made him feel like a million bucks, like a goddamn love god. The  
whimpering and the whining and the fast shallow gasps did it. The sudden wrench of Ben's fingers in his  
hair did it. The way Ben yelled when Ray opened his mouth and took Ben in. Oh, yeah, that did it.

Finally, Ray looked up. Ben was still staring at him with that crazy, pleading look in his eyes. Ben was  
focused. Oh, hell yeah. He was definitely into it, no matter how crappy a blowjob it was. It all depended,  
Ray knew, on how long it was since you got some -- and by his calculations, it could have been years.  
Anybody's hand, anybody's mouth would be good by this time.

He couldn't help but hope that there was a little something extra in it for Ben because it was Ray's  
hand, Ray's mouth.

Either way, Ben was swaying a little, moving more than he should be given the hardness of the floor  
and the genuine possibility of falling on it. He looked like he didn't have any idea that all around him was  
thin air, that he was the only one holding himself up.

Why were they in the middle of the floor, again?

It actually took him a minute to deglaze his brain enough to remember. They were there because they  
never made it anyplace else. There was a pretty good king-size bed not a couple feet from them; Ray  
should know, he'd slept alone in it the first two nights.

"Ben. Ben," he said against the long vein. His only answer was a groan. "Ben, we have to get you  
down."

The laser pointer focus wavered. "What?"

"Glad you're having fun." Ray winked, but only got a hand reaching toward his face and a sad look for  
his trouble. Ben licked his bottom lip, making it shiny and inviting. His mouth was moving a little, like he  
was trying to say something but couldn't, quite. Which made Ray feel even more like a love god. Fuckin' A.

"Move. Back." Ray held onto Ben's hips so he didn't crash and burn, and managed to shuffle Ben a  
few footsteps backwards toward the bed. Ray followed him on his knees, moving the towel with him. Jesus,  
getting off his knees would be a good thing. "Sit."

Small words had been doing the trick, but Ben didn't sit down. Ray pulled at Ben's knees, and Ben got  
the picture finally, dropping awkwardly on his bare ass. Then a gentle push, and Ben was tipping back onto  
the quilted bedspread.

Finally, Ray could crawl to comfort. Doing it over Ben's body was just a plus. He latched onto the  
pretty mouth like he wanted to suck that dry, too. His hand found a happy home back around Ben's cock,  
and they kissed and moaned and thrashed around and Ben did his level best to pull all Ray's hair out and  
Ray didn't give a living shit. He pushed his own stiffie against Ben's hip and jacked him until they were  
both ready to erupt like volcanoes.

Winded, he leaned back and licked the taste of Ben off his own lips. Ben's eyes were bleary with  
pleasure, pupils too blown to even see straight. "Ray, don't stop, oh, God," he whispered, and Ray didn't  
even bother to correct him. Sucking Ben off was suddenly the most important thing Ray ever thought of.

Every time he tried to go down on Stella, she'd pushed him gently away. Ben was everything but  
pushing him away. Maybe now he could have what he always wanted, to really do something great in the  
sack for somebody. Things here were already pretty good, and he had a feeling Ben wouldn't push him  
away no matter what he did. That thought set the wires buzzing all fucking over.

He wanted to see that hard dick up close and personal again, wanted to feel it slide over his lips,  
wanted to make Ben come so hard he wouldn't splash down 'til tomorrow. So he started downward in sort  
of a leisurely way, giving Ben some time to think it over, if there were any thoughts in his pretty head right  
now.

He managed to pay a side visit to a couple lonely-looking nipples, to make sure they were good. An  
accidental scrape with his teeth got Ben rigid all over. "Oops, sorry, I'm . . . " He couldn't get any more out  
because his mouth was full again, with a firm hand pressing him down. He went back to work. Ben twisted  
over and sort of curled around him like he never wanted Ray to be anywhere else.

It was a very good place to be; all in all, one of the better places Ray'd been lately. Still, he had ideas  
of his own that needed fleshing out. Along the bottom of Ben's lowest rib, hey, that looked pretty  
appealing, and it was on his way, so two birds there. Either Ben wasn't ticklish, or he had incredible self-  
control. Ray would be happy to bust it up, but not that way, so he moved on, broad licks down the flat  
stomach, feeling muscles tighten rhythmically under his tongue.

The man was seriously in shape. That was pretty damned hot, too. All that power, and right now it was  
rolling under him, for him. He could hardly wait to get between those legs, just grab that ass and hang on  
while Ben went crazy. It was a whole new world, but he was navigating by instinct now. There was no  
question where all roads led to.

Ray's lips stretched wide around Ben's dick. He couldn't take it all in, even though he wanted to. There  
was no way in hell he was going to do a Linda Lovelace on that thing. His mouth felt too full, and every  
other nudge threatened to gag him. His eyes teared up; there was nothing he could do about that except  
grab onto the bottom of Ben's cock and try to hold the guy down. Good leverage was hard to find. Still, the  
gasps and stuttered nonsense he got in return more than made up for it.

A tongue circling the head set Ben to grabbing at the sheets, and he mentally filed that. For . . . later?  
Was he planning on doing this again? Oh, hell, yeah. If Ben would. If things went his way, there would be  
a later tonight, one where Ben would find a way to relieve that low heavy ache, the one like a vise around  
Ray's dick. He'd take whatever he could get, for as long as he could get it, and think about what the fuck he  
was doing later.

His jaw already hurt. The extra skin made it a little easier; it sort of followed his mouth up and down.  
Stretched out on the way down, bunched up a little on his way up. There were so many different levels of  
soft and hard that he couldn't sort them all out. Even Ben's nuts were hard, pulled up tight like they wanted  
to crawl into his mouth, too. Staying safely up there at the head so he didn't get too much by surprise, he  
reached down to cup them in his hand, but his elbow slipped in the sheets. His fingertips stubbed into the  
soft spot right behind the jewels.

Wham!

He could feel Ben's groan right through his dick. A blast of come filled his mouth before he could get  
away, and as he pulled back, another shot hit his cheek, gooey and dripping. There was a lot of it. Without  
thinking, he spit the stuff out into his hand. It wasn't really disgusting, just . . . strange. Not like he'd never  
touched his own before, but this was somebody else's. Jeez, it was sticky. Slippery. He rubbed his fingers  
together.

Oh, yeah. Good, good, everything so far was good. His hand knew where it needed to be, and moved  
down. Slippery would feel so damn good on his own cock. Slick himself up with Ben's come. Plow through  
that mess on Ben's belly, have a log ride of his own, come all over . . . Ben.

Just the thought of spraying all over that pale smooth skin made his ears buzz.

He didn't get anywhere near it.

Ben was leaning up and over -- how the guy could even sit up after pumping out all his body fluids,  
Ray didn't know. A thick voice slurred low in his ear, but he had no idea what the words were. A big, hot,  
fumbling hand caught him where it was most important and tugged once and that was all.

Thar she blows, he thought, watching himself spurt over Ben's wrist. Okay, he'd hoped to do better  
than that. But he couldn't be too bummed when he was vibrating like a tuning fork. He might never move  
again, and that seemed pretty okay. The music was nice, after all, and he had Ben Fraser right next to him.

 

He woke up with his stomach growling. God, he was hungry. Then he remembered why. Once that  
appetite was settled, there'd been no need or want for anything else. The two of them had just wadded  
themselves up in the blankets and passed out unceremoniously. He wondered if Ben had ever even gotten  
his jeans all the way off, or if they'd been around his ankles all night.

Speaking of all night, it was morning now, and speaking of Ben, the man was either outside or  
invisible. He smiled at his own really lame joke, just because he felt like smiling this morning. Smiling a  
lot. All over his body. Even though all over his body was kind of -- yecch. Covered with yesterday's  
sunscreen and salt and last night's come, he was downright crusty. He took a deep breath, loving the smell  
of Ben in the blankets.

Where was he, anyway? At least today he wasn't worried about the guy flaking off. If Ben'd had  
anywhere near as good a time as Ray did, he'd be sticking around for more. Experimentally, Ray stretched  
out an arm. Huh. Still worked. A little stiff, though. Must have used a lot of muscles last night that didn't  
get much action. Mmmm, good.

Carefully, he crawled out of the blankets, admiring the coccoon he left behind. It looked just about  
right for two people to crawl back into. Although, he amended, the sheets could really stand to be washed.  
So could he.

Good thing there was a coffeemaker in this place, along with some of Ben's favorite local coffee. He  
wandered to the door after starting a pot. Sure enough, there was Ben in the Speedo, pounding barefoot  
down the beach with the dog, bare skin gleaming, the sun over the mountaintop giving him a golden glow.  
Or maybe that just came with. Maybe glow was part of the package.

Ray leaned in the doorway and watched, still in his birthday suit. His dick was hard from just  
watching Ben's body move in concentrated rhythm, and he absently stroked himself in anticipation. Both  
Ben's eyebrows went up when he cleared the screen of the bushes.

"Ah . . . " A little throat-clearing; a big smile. "Good morning, Ray." Beautiful smile.

"A very good morning. Wanna see if we can make it even better?"

"Perhaps I could take that off your hands. I wouldn't want you to be, ah, overworked."

Ben fell on him like he was starving, but not for pancakes. That running stuff had to really crank the  
feel-good quotient. A hot hard hand around his cock was almost as good as the feel of Ben's ass under his  
fingers. He groped mindlessly, exploring. The second skin of the Speedo felt like the real thing; nothing  
between them except wishful thinking. Ben's tongue invaded his mouth, stopping at nothing, not that Ray  
was trying to stop him. They were just . . . together, in a way he'd never been together with anybody.

Only trouble was, he didn't know what to do with it.

"What . . . " he mumbled around Ben's mouth. "What do you want?"

All he got in return was a "Huh?" before the next takeover bid.

"You. What you want?" It sure was hard to talk with somebody else's tongue in the way.

"Your address," Ben breathed against his jawline. "And phone number." Nip. Suck. "In Chicago."

"Oh, shit, yeah." He pulled Ben's ass even closer as the man worked his way across Ray's collarbone.  
Flexibility, that was the ticket. Then he let go as Ben dropped to the floor.

"No, wait," he managed. "Can't do that." How stupid was he, really? Pretty stupid, he must be, to  
distract somebody about to give him his first ever blowjob. Not just somebody -- Ben. But he really was  
disgusting. No sense in grossing the guy out before he even started.

"Huh?"

Ben was not good with mornings, he guessed. "Need -- " enough air to talk " -- shower."

"Shower?"

"Yeah. You know. Water. Hot water." He pulled at Ben's shoulders.

Ben looked as out of it as Ray felt. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"Come on. I always wanted to do it in the shower, anyway." Stumbling a little, he led Ben into the  
bathroom and under the spray.

Hot and wet, yeah, that was the whole shebang; it felt so good to rinse off the grime and crust, but not  
as good as Ben felt, as good as he looked -- shiny and slippery and naked as fast as Ray could get the  
Speedo down. It wasn't as easy as it might have been if Ben wasn't plastered all over him, sucking anything  
that hove into range of his mouth.

He pulled Ben's face up for another tongue twister and wrapped his arms around that wide back. They  
were almost the same height, close enough together to be joined at the dick, rubbing and panting, water  
beating down on their heads. All of a sudden, Ben threw in an extra sideways move that was just -- wow.  
The fuse sizzled all the way from his cock to the top of his head. Dry, it would have meant a whole new  
hairdo.

It was all he could do not to blow on the spot.

"What -- " he spluttered weakly, laughing, "what the hell you call that?"

He'd never noticed that evil twinkle in Ben's eyes. "The French call it frottage, Ray."

Frantically, he dug through his memories of one semester of French. "Cheese?"

"Not fromage. Frottage, meaning . . . " Ray's teeth on his neck seemed to cut him off in mid-  
explanation, but he started again. " . . . the -- ah -- rubbing of bodies together for -- uh! -- sexual satisfaction  
\-- "

"Ben?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up and do that again."

"Understood."

Ray knew he was no Einstein. It didn't matter. It didn't take a genius to understand that the crazy,  
jumbled up feeling he got inside, watching Ben's dark head at his hip, didn't have anything to do with  
physical sensation.

Afterward, when they were sitting propped up half-dead against the walls of the shower, the water  
pounding away any muscle tone he had left, Ben raised his head. His words sounded more tentative than  
Ray would have expected.

"You will come to Oahu with me, won't you, Ray?"

He would.

 

There wasn't much vacation left, so he packed up and took his bag along to Oahu. He sure as hell  
wasn't going to waste any vacation time with just himself for company. They had to leave Dief with  
Brenda, since Ben said plane rides made him sick.

The people sleeping on mattresses or just on flat cardboard boxes outside the airport in half-hidden  
corners shocked him. Shouldn't have; after all, this was the big city too. Book 'em, Dano, and all that. It just  
seemed like there shouldn't be homeless people in paradise. He shook his head -- same shit, different city --  
and they went off to pick up his rental car.

The wait at the Alamo place was forever. He might as well try to figure out what was going on here.  
"Is this lady really your aunt?"

"No, Aunty is often an honorific."

"So, there must be some reason why you're honorifying her."

"Shortly after I came to Hawaii the first time, I became friends with Delmar, whom you've met. He  
was taking his master's degree in marine biology at the University."

"Yeah?" So Delmar was no dummy.

"He took me on a tour of Maui, along the famous Hana Highway -- it's a beautiful trip, but on this  
occasion, it had been storming for days, the worst storms in a decade. We decided to drive down along the  
Keanae Peninsula to observe the heavy surf."

"That must have been pretty amazing. I've seen those kind of waves -- on tv shows, anyway." Ray  
finally got them onto the main drag from the rental parking lot.

"It was most certainly that." Ben's voice was wry. "As we were getting out of the car, six people who  
were standing too close to the rocky edge of the Keanae Landing were swept away by twelve-foot waves."  
He sighed. "Despite the efforts of Delmar, myself, and another man who lived nearby, two visitors lost  
their lives in the ocean."

Ray turned to him, forgetting all about the traffic for a second. "You jumped into twelve-foot waves to  
help a bunch of people who were too stupid to stand back? I wouldn't jump into Lake Michigan."

"But you don't swim, Ray." The guy was way too reasonable. "It's not quite as dangerous if you know  
how the current is running, and you know how to swim along it."

"Yeah, not quite," Ray grumbled. "Right." Jesus, this guy really was a nut. "But it was your first time  
here! How could you know how to swim in the freakin' ocean? You grew up in," -- someplace up north,  
that was all he could remember -- "in the middle of nowhere."

"Well," it sounded like a rap on the knuckles, even if it wasn't as hard as the nuns used to, "of course I  
took the time to read up on such possibilities before I came."

"Of course." Ray rolled his eyes. "What does this have to do with the Aunty lady?"

"When we returned to Oahu, somewhat the worse for wear, Delmar's Aunty Meli took us in. She fed  
and coddled us for several days. When she found out what we had done, and discovered that neither of my  
parents are still living, she insisted on adopting me into her extended family. She's the one who gave me the  
quilt with the emblem of the Hawaiian flag. It was quite an honor."

"You are her family, then, sort of." He negotiated around a big truck in the middle of the street.  
"Aunty Meli, huh . . . Aunty M." Ray burst out laughing. "Ben, you got a Aunty M!" He couldn't help the  
sing-song. "There's no place like home, there's no place like home."

He laughed again, but Ben looked serious, almost sad. "Hawaii does feel very much like home to me,  
Ray. It's one place I really feel like I belong. It's hard to leave each year to go back to teaching."

"Why don't you stay, then?"

"I do need to make a living, and given the shortage of open positions here . . . but perhaps some day."

Ben gave precise directions; he'd expected no less. When they pulled up in front of a little yellow  
house, that had to be Ben's Aunty M washing the siding. Ben hollered and she waved back as they came up  
the neat walkway.

"Ben!" he whispered behind his hand. "Are they all this hausfrau here?"

The neighborhood looked pretty nice, small neat post-WWII houses like some areas of Chicago,  
although it was hard to tell whether everybody was out scrubbing their houses on a regular basis. And in  
Chicago, those areas didn't look nearly this good.

"Meli is very proud of her house and her neighborhood. Understandably so, since she's the person who  
dragged it out of the clutches of the drug dealers and hoodlums that were taking it over." Ben smiled  
broadly. Jeez, he was pretty. "Her area didn't always look this good. This renewal happened in just the last  
few years."

They were close enough to be heard, now, and the round, brown woman tossed a thick braid over one  
shoulder as she stepped up to squish Ben in an enormous hug. It took a lot, considering how short she was.  
Her sun-spangled smile reminded him of Ben's, even more so in contrast with her skin. Going by the  
crinkles around her eyes, he bet she laughed a lot.

"Don't be silly. The whole neighborhood worked together, all of us." Her voice was soft and musical.  
"And you were the one who started it all."

"What?" Ray was baffled by now.

Aunty M turned the full effect of her teeth on Ray and took his hand. "Hello, I'm Meli Ahuna. Just call  
me Aunty Meli. Any family of Ben's is family of mine." She squeezed his hand. "The man next to you is  
the one who instigated the renewal of our neighborhood. He encouraged us to fight back against the 'ino,  
the bad guys, by starting the neighborhood watch. He convinced us we could make a difference."

Ben broke in with the introduction. "This is Ray Kowalski, a friend from Chicago."

"Delmar told me you'd be bringing your ipo." She looked happy about Ben dragging in a friend. "The  
more the merrier."

Ben looked at Ray over her head, apologetic about something. "Well, it's . . ." He straightened his  
already straight shirt collar with his free hand. He was wearing Ray's gift shirt.

Meli tugged on both their hands, leading them into the house. "It's almost lunch time. Come on in."

Aunty M was pulling a surprising array of dishes out of the refrigerator, and he wondered how she  
managed to make all that stuff in her tiny kitchen. The mess had to be unbelievable. She caught Ray's look  
of amazement. "Leftovers from a party last night," she assured him. "My sister's youngest turned sixteen.  
Big luau over at Ewa Beach."

"Don't believe her," snorted Ben. "She's simply a person who follows the old Hawaiian adage, 'Don't  
eat until you're full. Eat until you're tired.' "

"Don't give me any of that, Ben Fraser. I've seen you eat, remember?" Aunty M's smile lit up the  
room.

They fell on all the double-your-fun food: huli-huli chicken, looked and tasted like barbecue only  
better; lomilomi salmon, which looked like raw fish only he just closed his eyes and ate it anyway; and  
laulau, meat wrapped in leaves. After a while, he totally got the 'eat until you're tired' theory.

He was happy to pass on the poi this time, and he discovered Ben hadn't been kidding about the  
whiteness of side dishes. There was macaroni salad made from just macaroni and mayonnaise, potato salad  
with, guess what, potatoes and mayo, and, of course, on the side, rice. The fruit salad had fruit in it that he  
didn't recognize, but it tasted great anyway.

He was too relaxed and stuffed to join their chatter, and it was mostly about people he didn't know, but  
that was okay. One thing he'd already figured out, it was fun just to watch Ben in his native habitat.

"You were sorely missed at the luau, Ben, and not just because Kanoe has a crush on you. There were  
only two guitars."

"I wanted to come, but I needed to take some samples yesterday."

Which was no lie, since the guy had been coming his brains out, samples all over the sheets,  
neglecting to mention any family get-together. It was kind of nice to know he was that important for the  
few days he was here, when these people were a big deal to Ben. Even if it was only because Ben wanted to  
get laid. Well, that wasn't fair. They'd done other stuff together, too. He was pretty sure Ben honestly liked  
him.

His friend leaned back and stretched, evidently as full as Ray. "I'm sure there were plenty of young  
men around to keep Kanoe happy. She inherited your sunny personality and lovely eyes."

"Flattery will get you everywhere. Why don't you play for us now?"

"You mean my guitar is still here?"

"You know I only give away your things when I'm mad at you."

Ray caught Aunty M's wink, and grinned back. He didn't even bother to ask what that was all about.

The way Ben played the mellow old twelve-string was nothing like he'd ever seen or heard before. It  
was a finger-picking style, but not like country music. It was soothing and sweet and Ray could almost feel  
the cool breeze over the water in it, the way he could almost feel Ben's nimble fingers on the inside of his  
elbow, along his back . . .

"Uncle Cyril would be so proud of you," Aunty M murmured, and Ray watched Ben's answering smile  
from under his eyelashes. He was halfway into a dream of him and Ben on the warm black sand when the  
phone rang, a shrill whine jolting him from his happy thoughts.

Ben stopped playing and looked up, brows raised.

"I've been letting the machine pick up lately," Aunty M said with a sigh.

It did. The electronically-disguised voice made his skin crawl. "Good to see you outside cleaning your  
house this morning, Mrs. Ahuna. That's where you belong, not out giving speeches. If you insist on doing  
that, we'll find a way to stop you." Click. Buzzzz.

"They're back." Fraser was frowning.

Aunty M nodded tiredly. "They never really left. I'd always find things on my email. Nothing anybody  
was willing to do about it. They've escalated since I started speaking to groups from other neighborhoods. I  
don't want to stop giving out my phone number. There are people I want to be able to find me."

All of her good nature had drained away. Even the gray in her hair stood out more. "I think it's new  
dealers now, whoever's bringing in that new drug. They call it Island Roulette, you know? It's always a  
great high, except when it kills you."

Threats. That just sucked. Pretty handy that the bad guys could phone 'em in, send 'em online. For  
some reason this woman brought out his protective instincts, maybe just because she was Ben's friend.

"I take it you weren't washing your house merely for the pleasure of seeing it clean." Ben's flat words  
suggested he was feeling the same way.

"Somebody tagged me last night. I suppose it'll just keep on. I did call the cops, and they were here  
earlier, but they don't have enough manpower to hang around my house waiting for something to happen."

"You're kidding."

Two heads swiveled toward him. They were probably stunned that he'd finally opened his mouth.

No manpower meant no money. He was forking over $550 a night on the empty grass hut. "This place  
is crawling with tourists, and there's no money for cops?"

Aunty M sighed. "Most of that tourist money goes back to hotel corporations in Japan or on the  
Mainland. Making beds doesn't pay much, and tourism can't employ everybody. There are a lot of people  
living in poverty."

Ray revised his idea of why there were shacks in Hawaii.

"So you're thinking this will continue?" Fraser reached over and covered Aunty M's hand. "There's got  
to be something that can be done."

"It won't continue, because we're going to stop it," Ray said firmly.

Even he wasn't sure why, when he finally had something to say, that's what it was.

Scratch that. He knew, all right. Ben might be able to do everything, but Ray could do one thing well,  
and he was damn well going to. He was a good cop.

Ben and Aunty M both talked at once.

"How?"

"Ray, I -- "

"You both know the taggers and the callers aren't the sweetest pineapples on the tree. The head guys  
don't do that picayune shit. Um. I mean. We're going to follow us a tagger, and he's going to take us straight  
to the Big Kahuna."

"Pineapples don't grow on trees, Ray." But the look Ray got was full of approval.

He didn't really want to hang out in the bushes outside Aunty M's house half the night waiting for  
some punk kid, but Ben's admiring gaze turned him inside out. He'd do anything for another look like that.  
If they got lucky, the whole problem could be solved before he went home.

 

Which was how they ended up locked in the drug lab.

Following that kid had been good in theory, but the back alley to this place turned out to be a dead  
end. The kid had walked back here and he'd just . . . disappeared. Ray was with Braveheart, he had to go  
too, to see where the kid went, didn't he? Bad move. When they got jumped, the alley started looking like  
their own dead end. He didn't get much time to think about it before something hard connected with his  
skull.

He came to under bright lights, tied back-to-back with Ben, a post in between them. It didn't help  
anything when Ben yelled, "Release us immediately! This man is an officer of the law!"

It only seemed to start up an old argument between the two guys wearing tuxedoes. They had their  
debate while minions hauled out drugs and cash by the bushel.

"I hate to do this. It's my life's work!" That was the little one.

"You always knew we were going to empty the lab. Now that we have the cops here, there's only one  
good way to get rid of all the evidence. You'll get another lab. You'll have everything you could ever want.  
Once we have the submarine, we'll restore to Hawaii the glory it deserves."

Submarine?

Even after a knock on the head, Ben was fast. "You're the ones who illegally operated the Low  
Frequency Active Sonar, looking for the submarine."

"Shut up." The little one again. Mouthy bugger.

"No." The big one. "They should know who they're dealing with. Their sacrifice is not in vain." He  
lifted his arms up high, which sort of went with the distinguished gray beard and the crazy eyes. "My name  
is Randall Bolt. This is my brother Francis, and when we use our nuclear capability to free these beautiful  
islands from the chains of the oppressors, the whole world will know our names!"

"Oh, stop it, Randall. We're not the liberators of Hawaii, we're drug pushers!"

"Things will look quite different in the morning, Francis." He said it with as much dignity as a genuine  
loony could possibly have. "History is always rewritten to favor the winning side. Come along, we have a  
price to negotiate."

It took the two of them what seemed like hours to get free of the rubber tubing that bound their wrists  
and feet. Who knew Ben would carry a folding pig-sticker in his field boot? Or, for that matter, that Ben  
could twist far enough around for Ray to pull it out with his teeth? Okay, Ray had known that already.

"It's always good to be prepared, Ray."

"I'm gonna write that down." He looked around their prison glumly. "Benton, my pearly friend, if I  
ever have any more of these good ideas, just kick me in the head." Although, come to think of it, the goon  
outside the building had already done that once tonight, and it hadn't helped.

"We'd never have known about their nefarious plans any other way. We can still stop them."

Ray was more worried about getting out of this death trap in one piece.

He'd spent the afternoon in the shade of a palm tree by the ocean, snoozing on the white sand, while he  
waited for Ben to finish up at the University. If he'd known tonight might be his ticket to the Big Luau In  
The Sky, he'd have at least taken the opportunity to fuck Ben over his office desk. Never let it be said that  
Stanley Ray Kowalski didn't have his priorities in line.

Now, he wiped the sweat off his face with his t-shirt, feeling like he might suffocate before the bomb  
went off. The heavy, acrid chemical smells in the room were getting to him. Didn't these guys ever hear of  
ventilation? He stalked along the rows of tables, only barely managing to stop himself from banging on  
them with his fists. He wondered if he was going to end up like the guy on the road in Kona by osmosis.

He wondered if he was going to live that long.

Don't think that. Don't even think it. They had to get out of here. He was the cop, he was the savvy  
one, and he'd fucked up everything so bad that he was going to get the both of them stretched out on a slab.  
Shyeah, he had to be a tough guy, hoping to impress Ben. If his cell phone had been tucked in his pocket  
instead of in his hand when he got nailed, they could just call for help. Imagine that.

Momentarily still, Ray watched his friend silently, trying to absorb the line of Ben's back and the quiet  
sureness of his hands.

The door looked like a typical old-fashioned metal bank vault door, except it was inside out, with the  
combination lock facing them. Maybe the Nut brothers -- no, the Bolt brothers -- had bought the thing; it  
looked antique. Or, figuring these guys, they stole it. From the outside, it was covered with matching  
siding; you couldn't even tell the door was there. Until somebody opened it and pulled you inside.

Ben looked up warily from his crouch, as if Ray might go off just like the thing counting down  
seconds over there in the corner. There was a bead of sweat trailing along his hairline, his skin white  
against the dark of his hair. His jaw was clenched so hard he looked like he had trouble talking. "We have  
several minutes left, Ray. I'm sure we'll be fine." He leaned back down and listened at the lock, fingers  
twisting for the fall of tumblers as he tried to safe-crack their way out.

He didn't know whether the guy could do it, but right now he was betting his life that Ben's unseen  
talents ran to more than mind-bending blowjobs in the shower.

There must have been somebody in the lab all the time. The bigger, crazier brother had to be the one  
who'd lived in here. The fumes had obviously gotten to him long ago. The better-living-through-chemistry  
brother seemed a lot saner.

He prowled restlessly around the white and gleaming-metal room, jittering and shaking, mostly  
because he'd finally realized why there was no air circulation. The bomb didn't look like much; it was really  
little, but it wouldn't have to be much when it ignited the fumes of whatever the hell Bolt, Inc. made in  
here. He and Ben would look like what got scraped off the grill when it was all over.

"Ah." The sound was long, drawn out, and full of good feelings.

God bless words of one syllable. "We're out of here! Get a move on!"

"Ray, we can't, there are people living near this building --"

"We can't defuse the friggin' bomb!"

"There must be a way!"

"Ben, you don't know how to defuse the bomb. I don't know how to defuse the bomb. What are we  
waiting for?"

By his best guess, they had two minutes. Maybe they could clear out the locals if they hurried. He  
wasn't a goddamn professor of geology, but he knew enough to run away from a bomb.

They were practically wrestling now, Ray trying to push Ben out the door as Ben struggled to get to  
the bomb. Ben got closer to what he wanted than Ray did. In one last desperate shove, Ben went down,  
falling against the metal table, landing with a thump on the scuffed floor tiles. Ray watched in horror as the  
bomb wobbled on its perch and a big beaker swan-dove off the table. He leapt for it, ending up in a three  
point landing on Ben. Air left Ben's lungs in a huh.

The bomb plopped neatly into his outstretched hand.

The beaker spewed clear liquid, soaking them both, crashing to the floor. He closed his eyes against  
flying shards as he struggled for breath.

"Are you all right?" he gasped, levering himself up and off.

" 'm fine." Ben answered as best he could around coughing and spitting stuff out of his mouth.

"Good. Let's get this thing out of here." Grabbing the coil of rubber tubing from the floor near the  
table leg, he left Ben to get up by himself.

"What?" Ben had said he was okay, but he looked pretty confused.

"Come on, we're going to master the laws of physics. If this thing is right,we have -- " he checked the  
timer on the bomb, " -- fifty seconds."

They sprinted up the fire escape to the top of the three-story building, looking for a launch pad. Ben  
seemed a little wobbly; at the end, Ray was pulling him by the shirt.

He had a hell of a draw, though. Made sense; he was heavier than Ray. It was all Ray could do to  
stand against the pull from behind him as Ben leaned back. The rubber tubing worked better than he  
thought. The bomb arced into the night sky, and there was a pop like a faraway rifle shot. He felt a sigh of  
relief coming up all the way from the basement. That should pull cops in from all over town.

Except that right on its heels, there was a boom.

The quiet spread of stars above them was filled with an across-the-sky shower of brilliant color. Then  
another, and another.

 

Well, shit.

"Wow," said Ben.

All of a sudden he was tired. Exhausted. "Yeah, wow." He wandered over to the edge of the roof and  
peered down. There was nobody on the street. When he looked back, Ben was still watching the fireworks.

"Let's go find a place to call this in."

He had to take Ben's arm to get him to move, and once back down the guy was trying to look over his  
shoulder as they walked. Didn't they have fireworks in North Bufu?

In the alley, scattered on the pavement, were the munched remains of his cell phone. He'd been calling  
the cops when the big bozo tried to crack open his skull. Ben must have scuffled with the guy before he got  
hit, and they stomped it. Dispiritedly, he kicked at the plastic bits. Would this count as a business expense?  
He did need one for work. Maybe he could deduct it.

Surprisingly, they were only a few blocks from the hotel zone. There were people on the streets here,  
but not a lot of them. Couples, arm in arm, walking back from a night on the town or a moonlight walk on  
the beach. The first hotel they came to was a pretty fancy place, all marble everything and giant displays of  
flowers.

"Might as well make a stop before we call in. Two minutes isn't going to matter right now, and my  
back teeth are out for a swim."

When he got out of the can, Ben was playing with the water on the stone surface of the countertop,  
rubbing it around. His eyes were kind of glittery in the mirror when he looked up at Ray. Funky lighting, he  
thought. Then Ben leaned down to take a drink from the running tap.

Ray laughed and smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Man, I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

He was only kidding, but Ben turned to him, looking like a mulish five year old.

"I was thirsty," said Ben. That lip thing -- it was almost a pout.

Weirder and weirder. He was starting to wonder if Ben's brain was scrambled from getting hit. "Come  
on, we'll get you a glass of water in the restaurant."

"With ice?" Hopeful look.

"Sure, yeah, water with ice." He never thought that offer would make anybody so happy.

In the hall he found a pay phone and punched in 911 while Ben traced a fingertip along the dark  
curved grain of the marble wall. What was so interesting about that?

"911, what is your emergency?"

"I'd like to report a drug lab, a kidnapping, and an attempted bombing."

There was a pause. He could just about see the dispatch operator's expression. "Where are you, sir?"

" . . . uh, I don't know. Some fancy hotel." He looked around to see if there was a sign; there hadn't  
been one on the outside of the building, but the first thing he noticed was that Ben was gone. Jesus, the way  
the guy was acting --

"Sir?"

A wet, sucking mouth at the back of his neck nearly left his boots on the floor and the rest of him  
spread like peanut butter on the ceiling. He felt the rebound in every cell.

Ben, eerily quiet, whispered, "Ray, they're here."

He forcibly quit shivering. "What? Who's here?"

"Sir, where are you?"

Where was he? He was in some kind of bad dream. Wasn't this supposed to be his vacation?

"The men who captured us, the Bolt brothers. They are eating a late dinner in this establishment's  
restaurant."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." Irritation was crowding long-suffering patience off Ben's face as he stared down  
the hall.

"Listen," he said into the phone. "I gotta go, but I'll be back." He left the receiver hanging as he  
hustled after Ben.

Even though it was almost midnight, there were plenty of people in the restaurant. There were men in  
good suits and tuxes and women in slinky dresses. Ben hadn't been kidding -- the two men were right there,  
at a table near the entrance.

A string quartet played romantically off in the corner as the Bolts chewed on fine cuisine bought with  
their dirty money. Man, that just chapped his ass. The three guys with them must have the submarine. He  
turned to Ben, about to ask him to go talk to 911 while he kept watch, when Ben's mouth opened. Just as  
the quartet went silent, he straightened up and spoke in a voice that could be heard all over the elegant  
dining room.

"Randall and Francis Bolt, I am performing a citizen's arrest. It will be best if you come quietly."

He looked like he belonged on one of those three-masted ships, saber in hand, crying, "Take no  
prisoners!" How did he even remember those guys' names?

A babble of confusion circled through the diners as the Bolts . . . bolted for the far exit.

Ray threw himself after them, knocking over a couple chairs and nearly a couple diners on his way.  
He managed to tackle the weasely one, getting a punch to the guy's head in as an afterthought. He shook  
out his hand and thought maybe he really did belong in the WWF. Gah, no handcuffs. As a UFO zoomed  
past his head, Ray turned fast enough to watch the follow-through. Ben had grabbed a tray from a hapless  
waiter and spun it out underhand like a frisbee. Nice throw.

The tray itself was a near miss on Bolt, but the food landed like destiny on the sequined bosom of a  
big, and big-haired, woman. Her high C of outrage shattered crystal for five tables around. She stood up,  
gravy dripping into her serious cleavage, grabbed a pheasant off a nearby plate, and winged it at Ben. No  
arm on her, though. It hit a tuxedoed man a couple tables over.

Within seconds the musicians were cowering in the corner. What they needed was a piano; no good  
cover under violins. The place was filled with flying food and curses, some that even Ray had never heard,  
some in languages he didn't understand. A dignified gentleman was pitching pastry from the dessert table.  
Pasta hung from the chandeliers and sauces splattered the walls.

The delicate scent of expensive perfumes and burning candlewax was washed over by toasty-delicious  
smells that reminded him that, as much as he'd eaten for lunch, it was the middle of the night now. His  
stomach growled.

As Ray tried to stand with his struggling prize, a hunk of something solid caught him hard on the back  
of his head. It wouldn't have hurt that bad, but it hit square on the lump that was already there. The pain  
seared all the way to the tips of his fingers, and he swayed drunkenly. He almost dropped the bastard who'd  
tried to ruin his Hawaiian vacation by blowing them up.

Some kind of cold sauce was trickling down the side of his neck. Eww. He swiped at it and soldiered  
on.

Eventually, dragging the swearing and kicking weasel behind him, he caught up to Ben, who was now  
the cleanest person in the room. Ray couldn't see a crumb on him. Ben was standing over a prone Bolt,  
waving half a broken plate like an avenging Iron Chef. He stopped waving it when he realized Ray was  
beside him, beamed, looked back at the plate, and licked it.

"Mmmm. Steamed Big Island green beans with braised fennel. Garlic mashed potatoes, just a bit of  
scallion, made with real cream. Kiawe-grilled ono with a ginger and lemon grass glaze."

Ray pulled the plate out of Ben's hand. "What was all that? You never heard of sneaking up on  
somebody?"

"But this is so much more fun! I've discovered a technique. It's all in the wrist, really." Ben was  
practically hopping over his new hobby. "I haven't had this much fun since . . . yesterday morning." Then  
he winked, smoothing his tongue over his lower lip in a way that made Ray's hips jerk forward. Damn his  
reflexes.

The next thing he knew, he was tasting fennel and garlic too, because Ben's tongue was in his mouth  
like it belonged there. Which it did, but not right now. Because Ben's fingers found that same damn lump  
on his head.

"Ahhh!"

"I'm so sorry, Ray. Let me kiss it better."

"No! Stay away!"

Good lord, he'd created a monster.

Ray looked at Ben carefully. Even in the low light of the gold dining room, which was getting less  
classy and more food-covered by the minute, his pupils were going under in the deep blue sea of his irises.  
His cheeks were bright red. Was it excitement, or was it the shit that he got a mouthful of in the drug lab?  
They'd find out at the hospital, because now this joint was crawling with cops.

He waved his free hand. "Officer! Officer!"

"Ray, let's leave. Now." The purr was followed by a grope of his ass. From inside his apparently way-  
too-loose jeans.

"Are you crazy? We're getting you to the emergency room!"

Ben looked offended. "I'm perfectly fine. I feel better than I ever have." The mulish scowl was back,  
and then it changed to something more . . . seductive. "Let's not go to Aunty Meli's tonight. I know of a  
nice little hotel -- "

"Yeah, and we might go there after why we find out why you feel so good."

"Ray." Pout.

He finally snapped. "Knock it off, or I'll make them restrain you."

"I'd rather you did."

Oh, that smile was so very . . . bad. Which was good. Or it would be good, next Wednesday.

"Officer, this man needs a ride to the hospital. Immediately. And, uh, can somebody take this scumbag  
away?"

He spent practically the entire trip, the two of them in the back of a squad car, trying to keep his hard-  
on in his jeans and Ben out of them. Then, just as they pulled up to the emergency entrance, Ben's eyes  
rolled back in his head and he passed out, hitting the window with a clunk.

Ray freaked. He reached for the door handle on his side before he remembered where he was. "Let's  
go, let's go, he's unconscious!"

The cop on the passenger side jumped out, but by that time the orderlies were outside with a gurney.

 

He was deliriously grateful when Ben woke up again. A nurse shining that tiny light in his eyes made  
him snuffle, shake his head, and look around. He still looked dazed, but he wasn't dead, and that was what  
counted. They wheeled him away to poke and prod, and Ray was left to talk to the cops.

At least giving a statement took his mind off being in the hospital. Man, he hated emergency rooms.  
Funny how there was always something bad going on in them.

He had plenty of explaining to do. Hawaii's finest did not take this escapade lightly. The cops were  
more interested in booking them for drunk and disorderly than looking for mythological parties selling  
nuclear submarines. They gave him a breathalyzer and made the nurses go vampire on his ass. He was too  
worried about Ben to care.

At least he had the satisfaction of knowing the drug lab was still there, so there was evidence to back  
him up. He could only hope the Bolt guy's mouth was just as big around cops as it was around people he  
tried to blow up.

During the endless wait to find out what was up with Ben, he made a decision. Ben was going to be  
pretty upset about being drugged, much less being held prisoner. Again.

Ray checked his watch. The big hand was on the ten and the little hand was on the eleven. Maybe he  
could deduct a decent watch, too.

Moseying past the intake area, he saw that it was almost four in the morning. That meant . . . what?  
Five hours difference. Nine o'clock in Chicago. Welsh would have been sucking down coffee and riding  
herd on the bullpen for a couple hours by now. He headed for the pay phone.

Frannie put him through with a minimum of squealing about his vacation.

"Look, Lieu, I really need a couple extra days."

The answer snapped his head up so fast it started to hurt again. "Don't worry, Kowalski, take all the  
time you need." Welsh's usually gruff voice was . . . he finally identified the unfamiliar tone as sympathy.

"What?"

"Despite what my detectives may think of me, I know that family is important. Now that Vecchio's  
back, we can cover you for this, at least."

"What? What family?" He was losing it again; it was late, it was early, his head hurt -- "What the hell's  
going on?"

"Your mother called late yesterday, didn't she ever talk to you? Your dad is in the hospital. He's stable  
now, but they're doing tests. I thought that was what you called about."

Yesterday afternoon, which meant he'd been stuffing his face at Aunty M's, Hawaiian time. He didn't  
have his phone on all the time here; just checked his messages once a day. Or not.

Shit.

"Thanks. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know." He hung up without waiting for an answer.

Oh, fuck. His dad. Fuck. Bad things were supposed to come in threes, weren't they? He couldn't even  
keep count today. Yesterday. Whatever the fuck day it was.

His mom would be at the hospital, so no point in calling her. He managed to get through to Ron at  
work.

His brother was way too cheerful. "Don't stress out, okay? They think he'll be fine. He's having an  
angiogram this afternoon -- I'm going over at lunchtime."

Ray smacked his palm against the wall. "They think, they think, what is that shit?" The painted cement  
block wall was frigid under his hand.

"Take it easy. I know how you feel about Dad, but he's a tough old bastard. And mom's holding the  
fort. Don't worry, just come. I know he'll be glad to see you."

 

He got a special dispensation to visit Ben, even though it was the middle of the night. Ben's now-  
hyperactive appeal got him a single room. Either that or he had some serious health insurance.

"Don't worry, we're just giving him some fluids and keeping him overnight for observation. It's okay  
to keep him awake -- in fact, because of the head injury, we'd just as soon he stayed awake until he sobers  
up a little." The scarily chirpy little nurse closed the door behind him.

With everybody and his brother telling him not to worry, why did he feel like that bomb was ticking  
off time in his guts?

"Ray!"

Ben looked so happy to see him that he couldn't help cracking a smile. Then again, he reminded  
himself, the guy'd been pretty happy about a glass of water, too.

Most people looked pitiful in a hospital bed, even sicker than they really were, but Ben made a joke  
out of that. Against the white sheets, he was bursting with health and vitality. He wouldn't be going to sleep  
soon. Ray wondered what he'd feel like when he finally came down. His pupils were still so small Ray  
could hardly find them.

When he went to put his hand over Ben's on top of the covers, the silly bastard pulled him right down  
into a wet, messy kiss. At least one thing was still right with the world.

Gently, he disengaged Ben's clutch.

"Wait, Ben, this is serious."

Instantly, Ben's expression changed again. This time, an attentive curiosity radiated from him.  
Drugged up, everything showed in plain sight. If the guy could cock his ears forward, he'd look just like  
Dief.

"It's my dad. He's sick."

"Oh, Ray, I'm so sorry." Gentle sympathy. A clumsy attempt at a hug, which wasn't easy since Ray  
was standing up, sort of.

"I have to go. I need to go see him, he's in the hospital. He's always been my . . . well, you know, we  
had the usual teenage things going on. But when I got my badge, he said it was the proudest day of his  
life."

Ben looked at the wall for a while.

Finally he said, "I miss my father. Even though I never really knew him, I miss him." He looked up at  
Ray. There were tears in his eyes. "You need to be with your father. I hope he recovers soon."

"Thanks, buddy. I wish I didn't have to go."

Ben nodded solemnly. "Will I see you again?" Big, blue, hungry look.

"Of course you will! Look, wait, there's gotta be . . ." and there it was, pencil and paper, and he wrote  
down his address and phone number. There was no good place to put it, so he stuck in on the bedside table  
under Ben's cup of water. "You're gonna call me in Chicago, right?"

"Why, yes, I believe I will." Ben looked all cheered up again.

"You won't change your mind?" Ray gave him the eye.

"No. I won't."

Their goodbye kiss tasted like hope.

 

His luck finally managed to change from shit to gold.

By the time he got to the hospital in Phoenix, after his brother picked him up at the airport, after a  
good ten hours spent staring out the freakin' window at clouds from planes while he counted the minutes  
and pacing through the LA airport wishing he had a fucking cigarette even though he'd quit years ago and  
you couldn't smoke in there anyway, his dad was eating dinner off a hospital tray and teasing Ron's little  
girls while they giggled up at him. The old man didn't look like he'd had surgery a couple hours ago.

He leaned against the doorway, just happy to savor the sight for a moment. The piano wires in his  
neck eased up for the first time in fourteen hours, and, along with them, the blistering headache.

"Ray, honey, come on in. We're having a party." His mom bustled over and pulled him into the room.

Sure enough, there was cake and ice cream and lemonade in paper cups.

"You notice I don't get ice cream any more," his dad said wryly, as Ray hugged his mother and got a  
kiss on the cheek.

Ray made his way to the bed, his legs not as steady as he thought they'd be, and grabbed his dad's  
hand. "You old -- you scared the, the crap out of me." His breath came out in a stutter, and to his  
embarrassment, his eyes filled with tears. He tried to blink them away before his dad could see.

"I know, kid. Sorry." His dad squeezed his hand. He had big, callused hands and serious grip strength  
from all those years at the packing plant. It was a relief to feel it now. "If it helps, I wasn't too excited  
either. But they do amazing things with balloons these days. I'm just lucky my insurance sprung for an  
overnight stay."

"I'm glad. Dad, you look good."

The old man looked him up and down. "I look a damn sight better than you do."

"Damien, the girls!" His mom was being grandmotherly, so things had to be pretty much back to  
normal already.

"You know me and planes, we never got along," grumbled Ray sheepishly.

"Yeah, right. Some of us in this room spent the week watching babes on the beach and partying all  
night long."

"Watch it, Ron, my man, you're turning a little green."

"Who, me? I've got my beautiful babe right here." Looking innocent, he put an arm around his wife.

"You better say that," muttered Susan, and they all laughed.

"What's a man got to do to get some peace and quiet, anyway? I'm the one who's supposed to be on  
vacation. Go on home, I'm gonna watch the Diamondbacks."

"Traitor!" That was from everybody, including Ron's wife, who was a Cubs girl from way back.

"That's enough. I don't have to take this from my own kids." His fierce scowl was see-through even to  
Amanda and Julie, and Susan lifted the girls up for a goodnight kiss. "Go on, get out of here. And you," he  
poked two fingers at Ray, "get some sleep."

He sure did -- in the car. He woke up to a hand patting his cheek.

"Honey, if I could carry you in like when you were little, that would be fine, but those days are long  
gone." She brushed his hair off his face with a smile. "You're going to have to walk in under your own  
power."

"Gotta call Ben," he mumbled, working his way out of the car like he was wading out of a vat of  
caramel.

"What you've got to do is go to bed," she answered, as he stumbled on his way up the steps.

"No, gotta -- he's in the hospital. Was when I left."

"Oh, Ray, a friend of yours is in the hospital? Why didn't you say so!"

It took his mom's help; she called information while he tried to make his brain work. Despite being  
pretty much nonfunctional, he managed to identify himself as a detective with the 27th Precinct, Chicago  
PD, badge number and all.

"I'm sorry, sir," said the receptionist, who wasn't really sorry but made it sound good, "Mr. Fraser  
checked himself out earlier today against medical advice."

"Do you have any idea where he went? His phone number, anything. It's really important."

"I'm sorry, I can't give out that information."

His hand, with the phone on it, was up over his head and in motion before he remembered it was his  
parents' phone, and they wouldn't thank him for throwing it out the bay window, which was theirs too.

Ray woke up early with a comforter under his chin, a crick in his neck, and a burning need to talk to  
Ben.

The only fast way he could think of to do that was through Aunty Meli. Her name was in the book;  
she'd said so. Now, if he could only remember her name. Sounded like Luna. Luna, Juna, Moona, Hoona . .  
. Ahuna! That was it! A little 411 action and he'd be plugged into Ben faster than he could turn around.  
Whoa, that thought juiced his orange. Humming happily, he smiled as he punched in the number  
Information rattled off.

"Aloha, this is Meli Ahuna."

It sounded so much like her that he started talking before the, "I can't come to the phone right now.  
Please leave your name and number at the tone. Mahalo."

Oh, shit. Of course she couldn't come to the phone. He was calling in the freakin' middle of the night.  
Goddamn time zones. It was a conspiracy. He could just hear the time zones twittering in glee, like  
blackbirds on the phone line. There was no way he was getting back to sleep again, so he made a pot of  
coffee and waited for his mom to get up.

It wasn't as good as the coffee in Hawaii, but it didn't seem like anything here was as good as what  
was in Hawaii. His mom was happy to sit down for a cup with him, though, rubbing her eyes.

"How was your vacation?"

"It was good, Mom. You know, me and my friend in Hawaii, we . . . " he left the sentence hanging as  
he paused for a swig of coffee, and he choked on it when it dawned on him that he'd been about to out  
himself to his mother. Jesus wept!

He staggered up out of the chair, coughing and swiping at the coffee he spilled on himself. What was  
wrong with him? And what would he tell her, anyway? That he and Ben met by accident and in two days  
were fucking each other stupid, and by the way, he was gay now?

"Tough night, Ray?" His mom knocked back her dregs and smiled, still only halfway awake. Another  
thing to be thankful for. He could feel the back of his neck turning red.

"Got a crick sleeping on the couch. Ruins me for all day."

"You and your friend," prompted his mom.

"Uh, yeah, I was gonna say, we went snorkeling."

"You went in the ocean?" This time, surprise mugged sleep and wrestled it to the ground. "What was  
that like?"

"It was great. I'd go again. Ben's a scientist. He took me to see a lava flow."

"That's nice. I'm glad you had a good time. I wish I could talk your father into going."

"Good luck. He's worse with planes than I am."

They had gotten his dad back home and comfortable before he had another chance to phone Aunty M.  
This time, she was awake and available. Her voice sounded like Hawaii.

"Ben stopped by to tell me what happened. He seemed really down, but I just thought he was tired. I  
don't think he got too much sleep the other night. Where are you?"

When he explained what happened, she clucked in sympathy. "I hope your father feels better soon. It's  
hell getting old."

"Yeah, I'm beginning to understand that myself."

She gave him Ben's work number.

 

"Hello, this is Hawaii Volcanoes Observatory, Renfield Turnbull speaking."

"Turnbull! This is Ray."

"I'm so glad you called." That was encouraging. "Ray who?" That wasn't.

"Ray Ray, Ray the guy who was out on the lava with you guys on Monday! Ben Fraser's friend."

"Oh, Mr. Kozlowski." Turnbull's voice seemed to be dripping icicles all of a sudden. What the hell  
was going on? "I imagine you wish to speak to Miss Larsen."

"Oh, yeah, how is Brenda?"

"She is doing very well. We are all grateful for your intervention." He didn't sound grateful.  
"However, Mr. Kozlowski, I must warn you that I have taken it upon myself to serve as her protector. She  
has agreed to become my affianced bride."

"Wow, congratulations -- "

"Any effort you make to turn her head will be looked upon very poorly."

"Turn her head? Oh, you mean -- "

"Yes, Mr. Kozlowski. You shall make advances to her at your own risk."

Every extra minute of this was keeping him away from Ben. Exasperated, he yelled, "I don't care  
about Brenda!"

"You dog! How dare you toy with her affections and then fecklessly admit you have no real feelings  
for her?" Turnbull was sputtering, he was so mad. "I am speechless!"

Ray could only wish he really was.

"I am outraged-- I am -- "

Ray opened his mouth to cork the flow, but the metallic buzz shut it for him. The stupid bastard hung  
up! Even knowing what happened to make him that way, Ray was still ready to crawl the walls. The man  
was one puck short of a game. Ray dialled the number again, and then once more, but got busy signals both  
times. Fuck. And it was time to sit down to dinner with the the family, the whole family. They were glad to  
see him. They talked at him and he tried to sound normal. He just wanted to be somewhere else.

Later that evening, yawning and almost stupefied, he counted the time difference on his fingers.  
Somebody should still be in the office, and he hoped to hell it wasn't Turnbull. He cranked his fingers  
against the end table while listening to the rings. One, two, three four . . .

"Hello, Hawaiian Volcanoes Observatory, Brenda Larsen."

He melted into the couch. "Hey, Brenda. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. I mean, really -- thanks."

"No need." He waved that off, even though she couldn't see him do it. "Listen, uh, congratulations."

She must have heard the uncertainty in his voice. "You mean, 'Congratulations, I think'? Her musical  
laugh made him feel better. "He's a little nuts, but I love him."

"Good, that's good," he replied, happy that at least one of them was happy. "Can I talk to Ben?"

"He's not here." Her tone sharpened. "What the hell did you do to him? He's been like a zombie the  
last couple days. I thought maybe it was the drugs, but he's not coming out of it."

"I didn't do anything. I didn't! But I really, really need to talk to him."

"Okay, he should be back in tomorrow. But you know, it's his last day. He's packing up and moving  
out so he can teach first semester. If you don't call tomorrow, forget it."

He'd never forget it. "Thanks, Brenda. And take care of Turnbull, okay?"

"You bet."

 

He woke up early again, with an entire morning to kill before he could count on somebody in the  
office on the other side of the world. He ate breakfast with his mom and dad, scrambled egg whites and  
vegetarian sausage patties -- "It might not hurt you either, just this once," said Mom -- while trying to  
pretend there was nothing eating him back.

He worked half a crossword puzzle with his mom and changed the oil on his dad's car. He shot the shit  
with Dad about the GTO, about work, about life without steaks, about the Diamondbacks --  
"Diamondbacks suck!" "Nah, Cubs suck!" -- and they laughed. He mowed their tiny patch of grass, set in  
some shade in the back yard, a reminder of where they came from. They all ate lunch. He did everything  
but outright twiddle his thumbs.

Finally, at ten after one, he couldn't stand it any longer. This time, he was praying when somebody  
finally picked up the phone.

"Hawaiian Volcano --"

"Ben! Thank God it's you! I've been trying to get you for days."

"Why?"

The short response had Ray off the couch and pacing the thick flowered carpet. "What do you mean,  
why? I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine. There's no need to worry about me."

Even for Ben, who feared no man or volcano, that was a little much. "It's not like I just quit thinking  
about you when I got on the plane," he said, confused.

"Are you sure?"

"Hey," his voice softened down low, "you know how I feel about you."

"Yes, I'm afraid I do know. I don't think we need have any more contact."

"What? Why?" His fingers turned white around the phone. "What did I do?"

"I'm hardly going to discuss that in these relatively public circumstances, Ray. I just think it's best if  
we part friends."

"You are not making any sense!" He almost shouted into the phone. "Part and friends don't go  
together!"

"You're right, Ray. They don't." Now Ben sounded almost sad. "Thank you for calling to ascertain my  
state of health. Goodbye."

"Wait!" Three seconds of empty silence preceeded the dial tone.

Two hours later he got on a plane.

II: Chicago

 

 

He was home. Didn't feel like home any more, though. Chicago was dirty and it stunk. The heat and  
humidity almost brought him to his knees when he walked out the doors of O'Hare to catch a cab. It sucked  
the air right out of him, and left grit in his lungs instead. Chicago was nothing like Hawaii. No flowers, no  
ocean breeze.

No Ben.

Well, fuck.

He'd known as soon as he walked onto that plane bound for Chicago that it was a bad idea. Now it was  
a bad reality. He should have called in crazy. Something -- anything -- to get back to Hawaii for even one  
more day with Ben. A few more minutes. Just to make sure he was okay. But when the ever-narrowing  
sensible side of him had said, hell, you just met the guy -- he didn't really have an answer. Because it was  
true.

So now he was shit out of luck. The time to go back was over; it was easy enough to see what you  
should have done once the votes were in.

Thing was, how hard could it be to get normal after a week's fling? Not even that, really. Less than  
five days. They'd known each other for a lousy five days. No, not lousy. The best. The best five days of his  
entire fucking life, bar none. But . . . the bottom line was, five days. He could count their days on one hand.

Still . . . despite what Ben had said, he'd really thought the guy might call.

Write.

Send a postcard from the U.

But a couple days turned into a week, and the week turned into two. He realized, finally, that he'd have  
to get over it. Even though it had seemed as if Ben liked him, liked him a lot, there was nothing to prove  
that. In fact, there was ongoing evidence screaming about how Ben wanted nothing to do with him. That  
hurt.

It occurred to him that maybe, like Stella, Ben didn't know him. Worse than with Stella, really, since  
Ben didn't know anything about him. Stella didn't know Ray anymore, but Ben didn't know Ray at all. For  
a long time, longer than Ray deserved, Stella'd seen everything he did through the eyes of love, a love that  
started back when Ray was her knight in shining armor. Ben had never loved him in the first place.

There wasn't even any reason to get himself in trouble like he had with Stella -- following her around,  
stopping by her work, calling her all the time. He didn't have Ben's number and it was safer that way. A  
grown man would know what he wanted, and Ben already told him all about it.

There was no reason for Ben to call Ray. So they screwed each other blind on his vacation, so what?  
Ben wasn't, had never been, a man's man. Maybe he didn't want to be one of those guys holding hands in  
the park. He was a pretty straight-up guy, after all. Somebody that attractive, that smart, just wanted to be  
normal. He didn't want to be a faggot. For some reason, that idea hurt just as much.

 

At first, Ray told himself that the on-edge feeling was jet lag. Jet lag, combined with the strange eye  
problems. Ray must've been spoiled by bright sunshiny tropical vacation. Chicago looked like an old  
movie, nothing in color any more. Even on blazing hot, humid August days, everything looked grayed out  
around the edges. Maybe he should go to the eye doctor. Wearing his glasses didn't seem to help.

Time did not fly. He was not having fun yet.

Stella had left him squashed and miserable; leaving Ben made him flaky and irritable. He wasn't  
attracted to every passing tit and ass anymore, but instead of being a relief, it just made him feel old. He  
was snarled up inside like a mess of fish line, and the tangled-up monofilament stretched all the way back  
to the middle of the ocean. He had no idea how he was going to get it straightened out.

He spent half his time,wherever he was, wondering whether Ben was okay. Whether he had somebody  
to talk to, whether the memories of Victoria and a Central American prison combined with goons and being  
trapped in a drug lab had fucked him up royally.

The other half he spent wondering why Ben had changed his mind. God knew the guy had enough  
reason to. Ray's stupid attempt to be Superman had landed them both in boiling oil, and left Ben in the  
hospital. Doing it with a guy might not have done him any good either. For all Ray knew, that was the part  
that freaked Ben out.

Every morning, no matter when he went to bed, he woke up early, sometimes before it was light out.  
That was pretty goddamn early in Chicago in August. It was like his dreams nagged him to the surface, and  
he couldn't get back to sleep. He hadn't been awake at five in the morning in years, and back then it was  
because he hadn't gone to bed yet.

There was nothing to do at that hour but watch infomercials, so he'd just lie there, staring at the plaster  
swirls on the ceiling, or at the broken blinds on the west window. He'd tried to straighten them out, but only  
managed to fuck it up it worse. Story, meet life. Some morning he was going to get up and go to the  
hardware store and fix the damn things, but for now he just waited for the alarm to go off so he could drag  
his ass to work.

On Sunday, he said to hell with it and got up, wandering to the window. He pushed up the blinds by  
hand. Might as well look out on the world. He opened the window for good measure. It was kind of nice,  
the early morning air, almost like in Hawaii. The street didn't look so ugly now, softened up in the gentle  
light. The unfamiliar quiet was calling his name, so -- moving like the Zombie Bride Of Frankenstein -- he  
got dressed and went outside.

There was a pretty big park not too far from his place, and he took to going there every morning.  
There were squirrels and birds making a racket and sometimes joggers, and he didn't feel so alone. The  
problem with walking was that it gave him more time to think, and he'd end up as tense as ever. Too bad  
there was nothing less than a hundred proof that would turn off his brain, let him get away from it all. He  
needed a vacation. From his vacation. So he walked. And walked.

Thursday, he just took off running.

The impact of each step in the motorcycle boots banged through his bones. It wasn't fun, exactly --  
more like his own personal earthquake. It got right down inside him where the worry and loss and  
confusion was and drove it out. There wasn't room for all of it. It was kind of like boxing, only without  
getting punched in the face. He'd never run away from his problems before, but at this point he wasn't  
going to bitch about what worked.

The world around him blurred, the trees and ground and sky blending into something that flowed by  
and didn't touch him. That was the best part of all.

He ran until his legs gave out, spasming uncontrollably. He slumped over and waited while they did  
their thing, hands on his knees, until the fire in his lungs subsided. It felt like miles, but he'd only made it  
across the park's diagonal. His body was trashed and his knees might not ever forgive him, but his head felt  
. . . better.

Dripping with sweat, he was still cleaner than he'd been since he got on that plane to Chicago. Heaven  
only knew what Ben was doing to keep himself together after what they'd been through.

On the way home from work, he picked up a pair of running shoes.

Two mornings later, he was gasping, head against the brown brick of his building because he wasn't  
sure if his neck worked any longer. His head might just fall off, left to itself. This running thing was tough.  
He'd never taken so much ibuprofen in his life. Every damn muscle in his entire body was primed for  
mutiny. He had cramps in places he'd never known there were muscles before.

Still, it was working. His body hurt more -- and, baby, he wasn't looking forward to climbing those  
two flights of stairs -- but his insides hurt less.

He watched, slit-eyed, as some guy jogged toward him with a very happy German shepherd heeling  
neatly alongside, tongue flapping from a doggy smile. He sighed as deep as he could, given how much his  
chest ached. It sounded more like a wheeze.

Everybody had a goddamn dog but him. If he was going to be doing this crazy-ass exercising, he at  
least deserved some company.

The door creaked open beside him. "Nice dog." It was Mrs. Kreviazuk, the little old lady from across  
the hall. She looked like she was going out for a walk of her own, tennis shoes and all. "I miss having a  
dog." He'd hardly ever talked to her; nothing more than a nod in the hallway sometimes, but he could  
sympathize with the way her gaze followed the pair down the sidewalk. "My late husband and I used to  
raise water spaniels."

"I always wanted a dog, too," he admitted. "But I can't see leaving the poor bas -- uh, poor pooch  
alone all day while I'm gone."

"Well, I don't so much have that problem," she said wryly, her already-wrinkly face wrinkling up  
more. "For me, a dog is too expensive. Feeding it, vet bills, tags -- and I just don't have the energy for the  
constant care. A dog in the city needs more exercise than I can give it. But I'd like the companionship." She  
shook her head, the gray curls lifting in the breeze. "Too bad I've never been a cat person."

"We had a dog when I was a kid. But since then, well, when I was married, my wife worked too, so  
there was nobody home then either." He looked her up and down. She looked pretty spry for an old lady.  
She looked like somebody who wouldn't mind puppy-wrangling. "You've been living here a long time,  
haven't you?"

"Eight years now, ever since Fred died, and I think they'll be carrying me out feet first."

It was Saturday morning. He had plenty of time to kill. "You know, I'm wondering if we can make a  
deal here. How about we have a cup of coffee? I'm buying."

"Well, I was just going for a walk through the park . . . "

"The park it is," he offered grandly, sweeping his arm toward it in what was somehow a Ben-like  
gesture. For some reason, his body didn't hurt so much anymore. "Coffee's right on the way."

That was how he got the dog.

 

Turned out Dog Lover Lady, Mrs. K, Lila, volunteered a couple times a week at a no-kill shelter. In  
that shelter was a litter of golden-lab-and-neighborhood. They were freakin' adorable. Any buyer's  
resistance he ever had went out the window as soon as he saw them.

"Purebred bitch; they were hoping to get a litter with show potential. But the fence wasn't quite high  
enough," Mrs. K explained with a shrug. "At least they dropped them off here once they were weaned."

And there she was: wise, furrowed little face peering out of underneath a pile of midget dogs. He  
knew her right away -- no mistaking those big brown eyes. She blinked sleepily at him, and it was all over  
but the housebreaking. He didn't know she was a she, of course, not until they gently moved all the other  
dwarves to one side. While she chewed on his thumb, leaving the world's tiniest teeth marks from her  
world's tiniest needle-sharp teeth, Lila checked her over.

"She looks good," said Lila, and proceeded to rattle off a bunch of dog stuff that he paid no attention  
to. He didn't care. He was a man in love.

He named her Waikiki. She was that color, the exact color of the sand. He would have named her after  
one of the beaches on the Big Island, but he couldn't remember -- or pronounce -- any of those names,  
anyway. She was the cutest, most aggravating, most lovable piddling machine he'd ever known. Kiki, he  
called her. He couldn't quite see himself running down the park footpath yelling, "Waikiki! Waikiki!" He'd  
sound like a demento.

He was pretty sure that right now, she thought her name was Ohshit.

He could only be glad, for the first time, that he still hadn't replaced his crappy Salvation Army  
furniture. It looked even worse now than when he'd hauled it all in here -- desperate for something to eat  
dinner off of, and too tired to care, at the end of the day, what he flopped down onto. Itsy bitsy teeth were  
more destructive than he remembered. That dog would turn his kitchen table and chairs into splinters before  
her milk teeth fell out.

And if her big-eyed "oh, please, I need pizza" look reminded him sometimes of somebody else, he just  
ruffled her fur and gave her a piece of pineapple. Every time, he was surprised that she ate it.

Tuesday. Day off, that was a good thing; he'd been pulling a lot of extra hours since he got back from  
vacation. What else did he have to do?

Now, though, he needed quality time to spend with his little girl. After his run, he took her for a walk -  
no way could she keep up with him running, even at his snail's pace. He tried to take her running once, but  
she'd just stopped after a block and flopped onto the ground. In two seconds she was fast asleep, and he  
finished out his run with an armload of dog.

"Struck by nap lightning," he told Elaine, waving a stack of photos like a proud papa. "Falls over and  
she's just out of it."

"Any woman would, after one look at you," Huey snorted. "Talking about your girlfriend again?"

"You're damn right."

"Yeah, Jack, and she's a real dog." Dewey did a ba-dum-bump of knuckles on the desk.

"You guys are a coupla comedians, all right. Just watch what you say about my girl," he warned. "I'm  
training her to attack."

But that was yesterday and this was today, day off, so he was out watching Kiki nose at bugs in the  
grass when his cell rang.

"Kowalski."

"Ray! Wonderful Ray. My partner, my buddy, my pal, the man I depend on."

"You can cut the crap now." He smiled wryly, already resigned to the evils of fate on his day off.  
"What do you want, Elaine?"

"Just one tiny little favor, puhleease?" she wheedled. "I'm desperate and in pain here!"

"Huh?" He sat up. Despite her joking, Elaine was pretty tough. "What happened?"

He could hear embarrassment dripping from her answer. "I tripped on a crack in the sidewalk."

Ray snorted.

"Hey, I know you're never gonna let me forget this, but there's no way I can push in the clutch right  
now."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at UC, in front of Harper Library."

Ray was already on his feet, with the squirming dog under his arm. "Faces onto 57th?"

"On 59th, the one that looks like a castle. I'm at the statue."

When he pulled up, dog and all, Elaine looked more miserable than he'd ever seen her. She perked up  
a little when she saw Kiki. "So there she is! Come on over here, honey!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

"I'm talking to the puppy." And needless to say, Kiki took full advantage of the attention like she  
always did. Ray never really understood the meaning of the word 'gambol' until her. She couldn't quite bark  
yet, but she jumped around and squeaked a lot.

"Hey, a guy can dream. Let's get you out of here."

Helping her over to the car was awkward. He had her by the shoulders as she leaned heavily on him,  
but it just didn't work very well. Between the two of them, they couldn't help but joggle her foot. "Jesus,  
you got a watermelon in that sock?"

"Oh, shut up."

The nurse was going to have to cut those jeans off, he was sure of it. Elaine would be really pissed, but  
maybe by that time she'd have some decent drugs. Even now, her good humor was fading fast, but they'd  
have her all set in a couple minutes. When she winced and moaned, he stopped to let her catch her breath.  
Naturally, Kiki took advantage of that moment to have a nap attack.

"I could carry her," Elaine suggested.

"Oh, yeah, right. This is going so slick as it is."

"My arms are just fine!"

"Okay, okay." Never argue with a cranky woman. He learned that many PMSs ago.

So they loaded up the dog into one arm. With the other one around Ray's waist, and his arm around  
her shoulder again, they turned toward the GTO. Ray looked up when he heard a car door slam a ways  
down, and stopped dead.

"Ow!"

Ben Fraser. Tall, dark, and so freakin' handsome he didn't need sunlight to glow.

"Sorry, sorry." But he wasn't paying any real attention to Elaine. Ben was here.

Of course he was here, he worked here. But he was here now, not a hundred yards away, walking up  
the sidewalk toward the library. "Ben! Ben, wait!" Joy and relief surged through him just to see the guy  
walking around, still in one piece.

Ben whipped around, a big smile on his face, one that fell off as soon as he got a look at Ray.

"Hello," he called back, not coming an inch closer. Ray saw the guy actually take a step away before  
he restrained himself to just standing there.

Ray yelled out the first thing off the top of his head. "Ben, come on over and meet my girl!" Then his  
own goofy grin dissolved as he realized Ben was looking down at the ground, over at the library, anyplace  
but at him. He wouldn't even look at Ray, much less come talk to him.

"I think . . . I think not, Ray. I'm . . . late. I have to go."

Without another word, Ben took off. He all but broke into a run, he wanted to get away so bad. Ben  
was such a crappy liar. Ray sucked wind at the pain stabbing through his gut. He wanted to scream at the  
broad back that got smaller and smaller while he watched, like through the other end of a telescope. But he  
didn't say anything.

He just stood there like a dumbass, trying to breathe normally.

Shit, he'd figured Ben wasn't interested any more, but to not even talk to him? That was really low.

"Who was that?"

Elaine's ankle was catching. It felt like he'd sprained something, too.

"Nothing, it was nobody." Nobody now, anyway.

"Nice looking, for nobody." Elaine poked him in the ribs. "Now, can we get this show on the road?"

He stopped thinking about it and got his mind in gear, along with the GTO.

A week later, Ray was still not thinking about it. He couldn't think about it. He shouldn't. He had a job  
he loved, a great dog, and a dogsitter who kicked ass. His life was fine. Great. It was greatness.

"My life sucks."

Mrs. K -- he was having a heck of a time thinking of her as Lila; he just didn't know any gray-haired  
people by their first names, but he'd probably better get used to that pretty soon -- looked at him blankly.  
"What brought this on?"

He fondled Kiki's silky ears and shook his head. "Nothing."

He kept trying to tell himself that, and it wasn't working.

Every day, all day, he was nagged by the itch to drive past the U, like some teenage girl looking for  
her heartthrob. But they didn't give out t-shirts for chasing after people who walked away from you. They  
gave out restraining orders. He'd handed over a couple when he wore blue, and Stella'd threatened him with  
one herself. True love did not conquer all.

Yeah, he'd gone a little overboard there. Pleading with her in public was the lowest he'd ever been, and  
he wouldn't do it again. Not for anybody, not even for Ben.

In private, maybe.

Didn't look like he'd get that chance.

"Well, then, take this dog for a walk. It'll make you feel better."

No, it wouldn't. But he'd try anything at this point. Anything would be better than this.

So he took the dog to the lakefront.

He'd walked her into the ground. She was snuffling around as far as she could reach from flopped on  
her belly, and he was just rocked back on his heels, hanging out. It had helped, a little, the warm sunshine  
on his back.

All of a sudden, a sharp bark, almost a howl, turned his head. More barking, getting closer. Something  
big, fuck, something was coming this way. A big white blur came for them, too fast for Ray to figure out  
what was going on. He shot upright and moved in front of Kiki as fast as he could, and it was fast enough,  
because the white blur hit him at fifty miles an hour and knocked him on his ass and he was just grateful  
that Kiki wasn't underneath him somehow.

Then he was sputtering around the dog tongue on his face, all over him, seventy-five pounds of big  
white dog on his chest and a fine sightline up a set of opening and closing black nostrils, just what he  
always wanted, and didn't he deja this view?

"The fuck! Dief, stop!" It didn't do much good, but from somewhere to the side, a choked voice  
ordered the dog off him.

Christ, it was Ben. Of course, who else? Who else would come here and bust his life into a million  
pieces? Just when he was getting over it. Liar, liar, pants on fire.

"I'm -- I apologize for Diefenbaker's behavior."

Ben looked like he'd seen a ghost, and he wanted to say, "Fuck you, I'm still alive." But he didn't.  
"We're fine. He's fine." Scum-sucking bastard. No, that was wrong. Don't say that. Ben had never belonged  
to him, was never his. Ben could do what he wanted, and if he didn't want like Ray wanted, Ray was the  
one who had to deal. Suck it up.

"No, really, I'm sorry."

Asshole.

Ben was pulling Dief off of him and he was trying to get away, jesus, did the guy hate him or  
something? What, Ray dragged him out of his hole or off his pedestal and what, dirtied him? Made him a  
fag?

And then Ben wasn't walking away, crouching instead, arms around Dief's neck like the dog was a life  
preserver.

Ray creaked up to his feet. "It's okay, ya know. I been knocked down by bad guys before." Funny, ha  
ha. Nobody laughed. He looked down at the dog, who was looking innocent and hanging his tongue out  
like he never tried to lick Ray to death.

 

God, he'd missed that dog.

He'd missed Dief, and he'd missed Ben. Missed Ben so bad it was like cutting his arm off. Seeing him  
again just opened the stitches. He felt like he was bleeding all over the grass. His hands were clenched so  
hard his wrists throbbed.

Fate sucked. Blow me, baby, he thought.

Ben was staring at him. Just staring.

"Take a picture, it lasts longer." Yeah, he could still do it. He could talk tough. Why didn't it make him  
feel better?

"I wish I could." The words were sighed out like it was Ben's last breath.

"Fine. Whatever." He tried to get his act together. He was a fucking undercover genius, it couldn't take  
everything he had to put up a good front. He looked Ben up and down. The need to reach out and touch was  
so strong he only just managed to jam his hands in his pockets. "So. You want to meet my girl this time?"

Ben drew in one long loud breath through his nose, eyes closed, brows pulled. When he looked up, his  
eyes were just . . . empty. Gave him the creeps -- one minute Ben was there, and the next minute, nobody.  
What did that mean? Ray didn't ask, though, because he realized Kiki wasn't there to be met anyhow. She  
couldn't have gotten far.

"Come on, don't just stand there like a doof, help me find her." There was no sign of her on the open  
grass, but he knew she'd run for cover. Not a stupid dog. "She was afraid of Dief. She's gotta be in the  
bushes. Kiki! Kiki!"

Ben followed awkwardly, like he wore lead shoes.

Sure as hell, there was the leash stuck in a hunk of bush, and on the end of it, Kiki. A stray branch  
caught at his hair as he leaned over. He freed the leash, grabbed her up, and rubbed her fuzzy face against  
his while she whined and made that funny little almost-bark. He hoped she wouldn't pee on him.

Dief pranced around them, still excited, but quieter now. It was still early in the fall, but the bushes  
around them were already turning color. Ben looked achingly good standing among the reds and yellows in  
his brown jacket, hair catching the sun. He must have been staring blankly, dog in his arms, because he  
almost didn't catch Ben's words.

"That . . . that's your girl?"

The sound of disbelief finally penetrated his empty head. He looked Ben square on, paying attention  
this time, daring the guy to diss his baby. "Yeah, what about it?" With exaggerated care, he set her down to  
let Dief nose her. The fluffy white dog whuffed and began to lick her vigorously. She did the rubber puppy  
wiggle at the attention, and it gave him some time to not be looking at Ben.

"I . . . ah . . . nothing."

Ray was pissed, now. Righteous wrath straightened him up and lifted his chin. "Okay, you fucking  
owe me. You tell me what's what."

Ben got pissed right back. "On the contrary, I don't owe you anything."

"You sure as hell do. First you dump me and then you walk away like I'm poison, now you show up  
with your dog slobbering all over me. I deserve an explanation!"

"I . . . you . . . " Now somebody was home. That somebody didn't look happy to be here. Pissed and  
flustered, but naturally Ben managed to pull himself back together. Not much could faze the man, if a  
volcano couldn't. "Who are you to demand an explanation from me?"

He was nobody, that's who he was. "I -- I -- "

Then Ben popped a fly ball. "Who was that woman with you at the University?"

"What difference does it make?" Why change the subject? Well, no surprise that Ben was still a nut.  
"For your information, that was my partner, Elaine."

"So you do have a partner."

Stone-faced prick. Where did he get off? Elaine had pulled his ass out of the fire a lot of times. "Of  
course I have a partner, how the hell do you think I get through the day in Chicago? It's a jungle in here."

"Frankly?" Ben looked him up and down. On anybody else's face, that would have been a sneer. On  
Ben, it looked like a sinus headache. "I was more specifically interested in how you get through the night."

It'd been a lot harder lately, but he didn't have to tell Ben that. He shrugged. "Like everybody else, I  
guess."

Now they were both silent, and judging by the look on Ben's face, both a little confused. Ray, for one,  
was fed up. "Look, if that's all you have to say to me, I'm gonna take my dog and go home."

"Wait! Don't go."

"What do you want?" He was a little leery by this time. A scary tendril of hope was winding up  
between his ribs, about to grab his heart and squeeze.

"I want . . . " Ben strangled a cough. Lines radiated from his closed eyes; others cut deep alongside his  
mouth. "I want you, Ray."

Oh, man, he was so friggin' sincere. The helpless look turned Ray to goo. He didn't want to be goo,  
goddamn it! He dug down hard into the realm of reality. "Yeah, right. That's why you dumped me." He  
cringed at how whiny that sounded.

"I did no such thing! You were the one who wanted a summer romance. You were the one who  
wouldn't give me your phone number!" Ben looked outraged and desperate at the same time, like he was  
about to grab Ray by the collar and start shaking him. No worries there, since Ray was already shaking. "I  
don't know if I can stand another brief liaison with you."

"I don't liaise! Look, Ben, I'm not a drug-running back-stabber, and I'm not going to leave you to rot in  
a Nicaraguan prison!"

"True, but you'll leave me." He spat the words out like they tasted as bitter as they sounded.

"Where the hell do you get that from?"

There was so much answering pain in Ben's eyes that Ray winced.

"Don't you think I can extrapolate from your previous actions? You left me at a Honolulu hospital  
without a word! You couldn't even bring yourself to stay long enough to see if I was all right."

"No!" Ray was horrified that Ben could even think that. "Just -- no!"

Ben ignored him and stared bleakly at someplace where Ray wasn't. "Oh, I can't blame you  
completely. I remember the appalling way I behaved in the restaurant. I was completely out of line. I  
shattered my every standard of behavior."

"You were a hero!"

"Then I compounded the indiscretion. I remember . . . reaching out for you. I remember you pushing  
me away." His lips compressed over his thin words; he managed a snort of derision. "In retrospect, it's no  
mystery that you lost interest. My actions must have been horrifying to a man who wanted only a casual  
affair." Ray didn't think he'd ever seen anything harder than Ben's eyes. "You left a note for Meli, a woman  
you barely knew, but you left me . . . nothing."

"I never! I don't, I didn't!" What the hell happened? "I mean, I did!" How did this get so fucked up?

That night, Ben was riding the whoopie bus. He'd walked and talked and laughed and kissed, but he  
must have been totally fucked up the whole time. Oh, shit. "I did tell you!" Ray was frantic now. "We  
talked in the hospital room! About my dad! About your dad! And I left you a note!" God, he needed Ben to  
believe.

"There was no note." The words clattered out of Ben's mouth like rocks down a well. He thought Ray  
was lying, he thought he knew it all.

"Ben, I swear. Why would I lie about it now?"

"I don't know. Perhaps to make me feel better, because you want something." Ben stared grimly over  
Ray's shoulder, jaw locked almost too tight to talk, leaving Ray to take a flying leap as to what that  
something might be. "The fact that you seem to be interested now, when you already have a partner, only  
makes me more inclined to think you're prevaricating."

He had a friggin' partner; what he needed was a partner. Ray found himself wanting to laugh, as  
unfunny as it was. "That's your version, huh?" He couldn't let Ben get away, not this time. "Then let me fill  
you in on my version. Right now."

Ray dug his fingers into Ben's shoulders, the smoothness of the leather jacket echoing the memory of  
Ben's skin against his hands. He laid on a liplock that couldn't be pried off with a crowbar. Ben shuddered  
and resisted, but when he couldn't get Ray off of him, he gave in with a moan. His mouth opened, letting  
Ray into the warm and wet that he'd fantasized about every waking minute since he'd gotten on that plane  
in Honolulu.

It was like coming ashore at last, when he'd been adrift for weeks. He couldn't let go; he was afraid to,  
afraid it would all vanish again in a puff of polluted Chicago air.

"Ray." Ben was mumbling against his lips, and he wasn't letting go either. "Ray. I remember . . . I  
remember you kissing me . . . goodbye."

Relief was enough to leave Ray strung out, and he tilted his head back to search Ben's face. "Yeah,  
Ben, I kissed you goodbye." He pulled Ben against his chest, whispering into his ear, "But I'd like to  
recant."

Another dose of warm and wet had Ray's head spinning. Ben's hard thigh between his legs made him  
wonder how much real screen the bushes provided. They were frantic; they pawed each other like teenagers  
at Hormone High. It was insane. It was perfect. It was the middle of the fucking afternoon in a public park.  
His knuckles were white against the brown of Ben's jacket.

"Come home with me," Ray urged. He didn't even know if he could stay standing if he let go. He sure  
as hell had no idea those four little words would freak the guy. But as hungry as he was, it wouldn't have  
mattered. He'd have said it anyway.

Ben stiffened up and stepped back warily, evading the needy hands. It left Ray at arm's length, with no  
arms reaching out for him. Ray went cold, even on this pleasant, sunny September afternoon. Yeah, he  
could stand alone, but he didn't want to. As sucky as his time back in Chicago had been the last couple  
weeks, he hadn't known how bad he really missed Ben until now.

"I'm not so sure -- I don't know -- "

"Look." He hoped he could do this, do it right. "I'm sure. I know. If you give me a chance, I can  
explain everything."

Ben took a deep breath. Ray could see the rebar up his ass bending just a little. "I . . . yes, I believe  
there are some things I need to hear. Ah -- from you."

Ray could talk. He talked. He talked and drove at the same time, since his mouth was on autopilot  
anyway. Not knowing for sure what Ben wanted to hear, he could only hope that Ben was at least listening.  
He talked about his dad, his mom, his dog. He talked about Elaine and the times she'd been there for him.  
He talked as if words would wind around Ben and keep them together. He talked as if words could keep his  
heart from breaking.

When they finally pulled up in front of his building -- yes, on-street front and center parking space! --  
he was talking, talking, talking. The dogs in the back seat lifted their heads expectantly. Still more words  
died on his lips as Ben laid a hand over his. It was warm and strong, and Ben squeezed a little before he  
said, "It's all right, Ray."

Ray whistled out a long breath as the last six weeks came crashing in on him. Aces and eights  
scattered, whistled away by Ben's words. Ray let them go. He might not have to build his life in a house of  
cards anymore. His voice, almost used up, cracked when he spoke again. "You. Uh. You mean it?"

"I mean it."

He hated like hell to let go of that hand.

It was a long fucking way up the stairs, even though he made like a herd of hippos pounding to the  
top. Which gave Lila the clue about him being back, and naturally she stuck her head out the door.  
Whatever she was going to ask or say was derailed by the sight of his guests. Her eyes went dreamy like a  
teenage girl's, and she sighed. He was pretty sure he saw her eyelashes flutter.

"Oh, my goodness! Who have we here?" Mrs. K was all but twittering.

Ray sighed, too. He leaned back against the wall, one knee up. Elaine called it his hooker pose.  
Carefully, he examined his keys one by one. It was too embarrassing to watch an otherwise nice little old  
lady go ga-ga over a young pup. He'd seen it happen before, but it made him want to scrub his brain. Then  
again, who was Ray to be judgmental? He'd had just about the same first reaction.

"Ray, introduce me!"

Yecch. Gushing, that was the word for it. Who was this woman, anyway, and where did she hide Mrs.  
K's body? He couldn't stop his eyeballs from rolling up. He pretended he was just looking up at her from  
under his brows. Turned out she wasn't looking his way anyhow. "Lila, Ben."

"What fine eyes you have, Ben!" she cooed, as she moved relentlessly his way. "Aquamarine -- so  
unusual! You're just gorgeous, aren't you?"

Okay, Ray hadn't been as open about his admiration.

Just before she made it to Ben, who was surreptitiously looking for a secret escape hatch along the  
bare walls of the hallway, Lila dropped down and flung her arms around the big white dog. "Oh, yes, I like  
you a lot. You're a sweetheart, you are."

Well, maybe his first reaction hadn't been quite the same.

That was probably good, since Dief appreciated the attention a lot more than Ben would have. The  
furball gladly washed her face as she skritched his ears. Dief almost moaned in pleasure, and he flopped  
down on Ben's feet to let her rub his belly. Finally, Mrs. K realized she was crouched nose-to-knees with  
another human being. When she looked up, there was no special interest on her face. Ray was willing to bet  
that he appreciated that view a lot more than she did.

"Give an old lady a hand up, will you?" she asked, sticking up her hand for a lift and sort of a  
handshake. "I'm Lila Kreviazuk, Ray's neighbor and dogsitter."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Benton Fraser."

Her face wrinkled up some more. "You . . . named your dog after yourself?"

"Ah, no, I believe we've had a bit of confusion there. The animal currently occupying my feet, waiting  
for you to continue rubbing his belly, is Diefenbaker." Ben smiled, teeth gleaming at her. God, Ray would  
never get tired of watching that.

"Oh! That's certainly unusual. Where did you get him?"

Ray listened to the story. Which was strange in itself, that the urge to get in -- into the apartment, into  
Ben's pants -- wasn't grinding his ass. He didn't have to stand there and listen. If he wanted to, he could  
made his own statement; he could unlock his door and walk in. The dogs would follow him in, hoping for  
food if nothing else. He could even go in, put on coffee and invite Lila in too. Instead, he stood in the hall  
eyeballing his keys, because hearing about Puppy Dief again was like hearing Our Song.

He listened while the sand soaked its warmth into his shoulders, releasing knots that had been tied  
tight for weeks. Sea birds dove and cried as Ben and Dief shared a ham sandwich in the maze of lava tubes.  
Tiny waves washed his toes clean while man and dog wound their way through to survival. He was  
beached back at the door to his apartment when Ben finished up the story.

So why did his door suddenly look like Door Number One? Like he wasn't sure if he'd like what he  
got when he opened it? He was looking at what he'd wanted for weeks: him and Ben together, no million  
miles or misunderstandings in between them. Why was something scratching around in his gut now?

It was the same feeling he got when he pulled his gun and took a step into a blind alley.

The only way to find out what was there was to take that step.

He lurched away from the wall as Mrs. K said, "I don't suppose you gentlemen would lend me these  
sweet dogs for an evening." Kiki was curled up against Dief's tummy, one of his paws over top of her.

Ben laughed. "I do believe Diefenbaker would follow you anywhere."

Words were said, thanks a lot, see you later, whatever. He wasn't sure any of them were his. Keys  
were fumbled, doors were walked through. His apartment looked totally unfamiliar. He threw his jacket on  
the chair, looked around his place, and felt like a space alien. The hand on his shoulder made him jump.

"It's good to see you again, Ray."

That smile didn't mellow his stomach lining like it should have. He moved toward the kitchen. "You  
want a cup of coffee?"

"Not particularly."

Ben was close up and personal behind him, and he could feel heat coming off Ben's body in the cool  
dimness of the kitchen. Ray took a deep breath and jumped in. "Okay, what do you want?" He grabbed a  
look over his shoulder.

The eagerness dimmed. Ben stopped, pulling at an earlobe like it hurt. "What do you mean? I, ah, I  
thought I made myself perfectly clear."

"I mean, where are we going?"

Ben chuckled, but it was forced. "I." He cleared his throat. "I was thinking that the bedroom might be  
a pleasant destination." He sounded uncertain, now, about that.

"Might be. Might not be." Ray knew he had to turn around and face the guy, so he did, but he talked to  
the dog dish. "See, if we do that, if we go there, I got . . . issues. It's important. This ain't vacationland  
anymore."

"Ray, I understand that as a police officer, your reputation must be of prime importance."

Ray lifted his chin. Ben looked concerned and sincere, but he wasn't sure if that face had any other  
look. "Naw, that ain't it. I mean, that's important, yeah, but not as important as other stuff. Like, what  
happens if I fuck up again, or if you think I fucked up? You gonna talk to me or are you gonna hang up the  
phone?"

He watched the stick-in-ass experience as Ben winced and straightened to full height.

"I hardly think I will ever again have occasion to be involuntarily drugged and experience amnesia."

Ray shrugged. "Happened once already."

"Point taken." Ben took half a step back, shrugging his shoulders, shaking off the stiffness. "That was  
inexcusable. I was . . . " He had to fish for words, and gave up. "I'm sorry."

Ray'd been wrong; Kiki's puppy eyes really couldn't compare with Ben's. He had to believe the guy.  
"Was that hard to say?"

"Yes."

He didn't doubt it a bit.

"I'm here, Ray. I want to stay here."

"Good." This time, Ray didn't flinch when Ben's hand touched his shoulder. He leaned forward, but  
Ben held him back.

"I just want to look." To Ray's surprise, Ben's voice cracked. "Just for a moment. Please."

Like he could resist anything this guy wanted. Ben gave him a lot more credit than he was due. "Go  
right ahead." He took the opportunity to do the same to Ben, so glad that they really there and they were  
looking at each other. It was something he'd thought would never happen again. The soft dark hair was  
longer, curling around the edges, like Ben hadn't been to a barber in the last six weeks. There were dark  
circles under his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping any better than Ray.

"You look tired." Nice one. One of these days he should trade in his tongue. Maybe he could get a  
classier model.

"It's been a long several weeks. I'm afraid I've annoyed my new coworkers with my unwonted  
rudeness."

Ray reached out and caressed Ben's cheek with his knuckles, the way Ben had done to him too long  
ago. "I want you any way I can get you. Rude or not." They stood there in the quiet of the kitchen, no noise  
except the muted churn of traffic through the open kitchen window, and even that faded away.

"I'm here."

Ben moved closer, as if he wanted more touch. Ray curled his hand around Ben's neck, waiting for  
arms to wrap around him. Instead, Ben did the same thing, like a reverse image. Leaning forward, he  
brushed his lips against Ray's late-day stubble, then just sort of stood there -- close, but not touching, not  
even looking. His eyes were closed. It made Ray a little nervous to be so close without doing anything. He  
wanted to back up, but he didn't want to mess up whatever Ben was getting out of it.

He closed his eyes, too, and tried to relax. He kept his voice down, not for any good reason except it  
seemed like the thing to do. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"Mmmm," said Ben. "I'm absorbing."

Ray could feel the smile. It made him smile, too. "Guess I'm glad you're still crazy," he murmured.  
"Wouldn't feel right otherwise." After a little more absorbing, he realized they were breathing together. Ben  
breathed in, he breathed out. They were sharing the same air. He was breathing molecules that had been  
inside Ben's body, ones that kept Ben alive, minute by minute. It felt like he was breathing Ben.

It felt like making love.

Without thinking, he started to sway gently side to side in the same rhythm. Ben followed him like it  
was what he meant to do all the time. They were dancing in the kitchen with their eyes closed, moving to  
the music inside. It wasn't a very big kitchen. They didn't go very far or very fast, but he felt like they could  
go anywhere together.

Every once in a while he'd pull back a little and look at Ben's face. Ben would open his eyes, and  
they'd look at each other and smile. Gentle hands skimmed his back, lingering along the muscles like they  
were the only important thing in the world. He was starting to think that a bedroom waltz might be just the  
tune he wanted to dance to.

Shifting his shuffle, he led them in a roundabout route. There was no hurry. This wasn't vacationland.  
He didn't have to fuck this gorgeous man as many times as he could in five days and then walk away. This  
could be real, it could last. Ben was humming something he didn't recognize. His eyes were still closed. He  
looked peaceful, dreamy almost, but his arms clung tighter. Ben's jeans were tighter, too -- so were Ray's.  
He didn't have to look down to know they were both getting hard.

Ray stopped the two of them in the bedroom doorway, swaying in place. They were both still fully  
dressed -- Ben hadn't even taken off his jacket. The smell of warm man and warm leather tickled Ray's  
nose. "Wakey wakey, Benton, buddy," he said softly. "Last chance to jump ship."

"I think not." Ben nuzzled at Ray's neck. The on-skin contact sent little hello messages all over him.  
"I'm signing on for the cruise. I hear the service on board is exemplary."

"Just wait 'til you see the midnight buffet."

"I'm afraid I can't wait that long." Ray's pulse spiked at the look Ben gave him. "I'm hungry now." Ben  
began to massage his ass, pulling them together at the crotch.

"I can, uh, I think I can . . . " His brain petrified about the same time his dick did.

"You think you can satisfy my appetites?"

It was always cool to see a sinful smirk transform that innocent face. Ben's mouth was just as sweet  
and hot as it had been the first time they kissed. Ray was backed up against the doorframe, Ben's weight  
against him, big warm hands up under his t-shirt. Now he knew why people stood against walls with one  
knee up. It was so they had better balance when a kiss wanted to topple them over.

"Anything," he managed, around Ben's lips. "Anything. Just . . . can you take the jacket off?" It was  
hard to think when he had Ben's hands roaming his body like they belonged there. It was just plain fucking  
hard. Everything was hard. He was so tense all over with waiting, wanting, that he didn't know what to do  
next. He wanted to just beg, but he couldn't even concentrate on what to beg for. All that was going on in  
his head right now was touch me.

"Have you ever thought of . . . being penetrated?"

The sound of Ben's voice, all breathy and wanting, matched the heat in his eyes. Blue enough to swim  
in, their pupils were just black pinpoints. He was so caught up in looking that he wasn't hearing, and it took  
the words a few seconds to sink in.

 

Nuh-uh, not that anything . "No! No, forget it!" Ray squirmed away, confused. He almost fell over  
when he lost the doorframe. He really hadn't thought about it, except as what some guys did. Even though  
he and Ben did all sorts of sex things in Hawaii, somehow once he got back here he'd always thought of the  
two of them . . . holding hands. Like the guys in the park. How stupid was that?

"I mean." He stopped, trying to stand up straight, not knowing what he should say. Good thing Ben's  
hands were tight around his biceps.

"Oh, Ray, I have." The gleam in Ben's eyes was unmistakeable. The silly bastard was laughing at him.  
This was not funny. The toothpaste smile looked devil-bred, and his voice poured over Ray like syrup. Ben  
reached over and caught his hand, kissing the back of it and sucking gently. It sent shivers up Ray's arm  
and down his spine. "Wouldn't you like to be inside me? I think you'd enjoy that. I know I would."

He didn't answer, but his dick sure did. He was hard enough to pound nails.

Ben scratched a fingernail lightly down Ray's arm, compounding the shivers. He wasn't laughing any  
more. "It was all I thought about after you left. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it. My head was filled  
with thoughts of all the ways we could have pleasured each other, all the things we could have done." His  
mouth twisted. "I wanted you, but I . . . I thought you'd treated me badly. It made me so angry that I  
couldn't let you go, couldn't stop thinking about you. I was angry at myself for wanting more than you had  
to give. I was terribly conflicted."

"Fucked up."

"Confused."

"Fucked up."

"Yes." Ben leaned over and began to press small kisses along his hairline. "And now that we're  
together, I just want to be . . . fucked." The last word was a whisper against Ray's temple. It stirred a lot  
more than Ray's hair.

"Benton Fraser!" What he was going to say about mouths and soap was stopped by Ben's lips against  
his, sucking his fake indignation and his leftover inhibitions away. It worked just as well now as it had in  
Hawaii; maybe better, because a lot of them were gone already. There was so much churning around them  
that it was like being in the eye of a tornado -- quiet now, but with heavy weather coming. He went cold,  
then hot. "You want to . . . you want me to . . . "

"Yes. Now."

Now. There was another problem involved, he was sure of it, and it finally rose to the top of the  
swamp that was his thinking. "But. But. I don't have any, any . . ."

"Condoms? Lubricant? I assure you, Ray, I came to Chicago prepared." Reaching behind him, Ben  
dug his wallet out of a back pocket and flipped it open. How he hid the thing in those tight jeans was  
beyond Ray's ability to think about right now. Inside, there was a condom and a few things that looked like  
those little deli mayonnaise packets.

"Holy hell!" He couldn't believe it. What was Ben up to? Was he just ready to fuck anybody who  
walked by, because he was horny after Ray left?

Ben looked away. "I did know that you live in Chicago, after all. Recall that I saw you, not long ago,  
with a woman I assumed to be your lover. I still had hope that we'd meet again, until that day." He shook  
his head. "May I take it that she was holding, not an infant, but your dog?"

"A baby!" Ray gaped at him. "You thought . . . "

"Rational thought had not a thing to do with it, I'm afraid."

"Oh."

"Your child, her child, it didn't matter. I thought you had a family. You looked so happy. I couldn't  
bear it."

"I was happy 'cause I saw you! Alive, well, breathing air, walking upright! God, Ben, you have no  
fucking idea."

"I didn't know. I thought you had . . . found someone."

"Never. Nobody but you." He went after Ben's mouth like it was redemption, determined to wipe out  
everything that had happened for the last six weeks. It was sure as hell working for him. When Ben  
responded in kind, he didn't give a shit what either of them had done or not done, he only wanted to be part  
of Ben, to be with him. "Glad you kept the goodies."

"All the goodies are right here, Ray."

"You ain't kiddin'."

Ben's body was hot sex and fast cars and all the things he'd ever looked at and couldn't have. It  
belonged to Ben, all the way, but the man was offering everything to him, and for what? What did he have  
to give in return? He leaned back, liking the way the wall held him up, wondering what to say.

"Wait, there's something else." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. He shouldn't be asking  
this question, it was stupid, but he couldn't help it -- he had to know. Everything was different now that it  
was real life. He felt like a little kid who didn't know how to act, but he couldn't lose this just because he  
was clueless. "What do you really want?"

Ben let go of Ray's arm, shoving the wallet into his jacket pocket. He slumped back against the other  
side of the door frame, looking tired and -- hurt? "I told you already. If you don't want to, I understand."  
His face lost all expression when he said, "I have somewhere else I can spend the night."

Of course he did. Benton Fraser could spend the night in the bed of anybody he fucking wanted.  
Anybody he wanted to fuck. Ray felt sick. "I know. I know. It's . . . " He could do anything, he could be  
anybody. It was his job, for a lot of years, and he was good at it. This was just as important. "It's . . . I need  
to know. What you're looking for. I don't care what it is, I just need to know. I can . . . I can be -- "

"No!"

The word exploded in his ear, rapping his head back for some skull-wall interface, leaving him more  
dazed than he was already.

"Being someone else destroyed your marriage. What do you think it would do to us -- to me?" Ben  
shook his head. He smiled, but there was no joy in it. "Oh, Ray." He grabbed Ray's arms again and marched  
him over to the bed, Ray walking backwards; then he plunked Ray's unresisting body down. "Ray, Ray,  
Ray." The guy sounded like somebody's pissed-off maiden aunt, but he didn't look like one when the  
clothes started to drop.

"You, of all people," the jacket came off and flumped in the corner, "should know better than that."  
Ben wrestled the buttons of his red henley and got it open enough to pull over his head. He talked right  
through it. "I want a friend." It muffled his words. "More than a friend." Getting the thing off, he stood  
bare-chested in front of Ray, who was still sitting on the bed with his mouth open. Looking.

Ben hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. His hair stood out in flips around his  
cheekbones. "I need someone real. The last thing I want is another illusion." He popped the button and  
unzipped. "You want to be trusted. I need someone I can trust." He toed off his brown boat shoes.

His jeans were tight enough that he had to work some to get them down, underwear and all. His hair  
tickled Ray's nose as he leaned forward, pushing them off. There was a tiny leaf thing in it from standing in  
the bushes that fluttered down and landed on Ray's lap. He didn't brush it away.

"If you're ready to be real, Ray, then I need you." He hopped on one foot back and forth to get the  
jeans off completely along with the socks, and they landed on top of the jacket. "So, what will it be?"

Ben stood there, naked as the day. He was all long, smooth muscle and farmer tan. He had his arms  
crossed over his chest, like he was going to start tapping one foot any second. He didn't look the least bit  
concerned about what the answer would be -- except for the handhold he had on his own arms, which might  
leave marks if Ray didn't do something soon.

What held Ray's attention, though, was Ben's cock. Not like he could miss it; it was there in his face,  
heavy and half-hard, curving from its patch of short 'n' curlies. The soft skin was flushed, almost a perfect  
match to Ben's cheeks.

He was so close he could smell Ben, smell the warmth rising right under his nose. "Yeah," he said as  
he reached out. "Yeah." The not-so-soft weight of it fit smoothly into his hand, getting fuller and harder,  
lifting for him with every stroke. The scent and feel of Ben settled around him, a cloud looking for  
lightning. A strangled sob from above him let him know that "real" was "real good."

The head was so firm and smooth between Ray's lips, and the sharp, unmistakeable flavor made his  
mouth water. He dove onto it, reaching up to cradle Ben's balls, smearing spit along the shaft with his other  
hand. With a cry, Ben almost doubled over him, fingers digging into Ray's shoulders. Ray was in the  
driver's seat again, and he wanted to drive Ben fucking nuts. Serve him right for staying away, making Ray  
miserable.

Pulling off, he cupped his palm over the head, circling, twisting, pushing choppy noises up out of  
Ben's throat. It gave him an almost mean thrill when he saw Ben's knees give before the guy caught  
himself.

"Get on the bed."

"I . . . ah . . . wanted . . ."

"You later. This is for me."

"But . . . "

"This ain't the debate club, Ben. You want real, this is it." It was as real as the up-north white of the  
skin under his tongue, as real as the coarse hair on the thigh under his fingers. Ben had hairy legs, for a guy  
with almost none anywhere else. It was kind of . . . cool. Manly. He tugged gently on the hairs, using the  
tips of his fingers, getting a moan for his trouble. "Think of it as payback." Burying his face in the curls, he  
got a snootful of the sweet smell of success.

Ben sounded way out of it. "You do this for me . . . because I was self-centered and thoughtless?"

"I do this for me, 'cause you fucking made me buy running shoes."

"Oh." Then, "Oh, oh."

He knew Ben didn't understand, but he couldn't care; Ben wasn't the only one turning into a  
whimpering pile of jelly. The hair on Ben's calf was softer than it looked, and it teased at his swollen cock.  
He couldn't stop himself from trying to fuck the guy's leg, so he moved away. He didn't need that kind of  
distraction; sucking Ben's piece got his primed and ready, and the safety was off.

He had his hand around the base and his lips hovering, about to take Ben in again, when he heard the  
peanut gallery. Something he couldn't understand, and then, "Please, Ray, please."

Ben wanted to come, who wouldn't? And that was what Ray was after. So he paid no attention until  
strong hands hooked under his arms and pulled him bodily up until they were face to face. He slid easier  
than he would have thought _guys sweated more than women_ and the feeling of being pulled across all that  
flesh made him shiver. The friction of them together, his dick rubbing up between Ben's legs, then  
snuggling in right next to Ben's, just about had him fucked right there.

Ben didn't want to come. Well, sure he did, but what he wanted more was to be . . . kissed. It was  
strange and wonderful, the way he just relaxed under Ray and started feeding on his mouth. Ray couldn't  
stop humping that willing, giving body for all he was worth. The way Ben pushed up against him was out  
of this world. Every time their cocks met, sensation screamed all over him.

He was out of control, shit, he wanted to make Ben happy, satisfy him, hell, he wanted to fucking own  
him and he couldn't do it this way, not going to town on his body like he was some kind of big old sex toy,  
but he had to, had to --

"Wanted -- fuck!" He couldn't talk anyway, why even . . . "Sorry, tried -- can't!" He groaned from  
somewhere down toward his cock. "Love you -- "

And he came, creaming a slush of spunk all over Ben's belly and his own. He was only mostly aware  
of Ben doing the same thing, of Ben grabbing tissues from the box he hadn't used since he came back to  
Chicago. It was too good, too big, and he didn't know what the fuck to do then, except melt down onto Ben  
and breathe free for the first time since Stella left.

He was so out of it so fast that he only vaguely heard the soft, "And I you, Ray."

 

It was dark, and he brushed away the tickle along his jaw. The hand he caught startled him awake, or  
at least more awake. Now, he was awake enough to know it wasn't completely dark. The blinds, duh, he  
still couldn't close them, and light from the street let him see Ben's face. Ben was watching him, eyes  
shadowed and solemn.

After-dark in this room had always seemed . . . not too great. He liked the rest of the apartment, but  
the bedroom always felt kind of grim. It was the Room After Stella, the only bedroom he'd spent more than  
one or two nights alone in for thirteen years. That wasn't half his life. The months after she left felt like half  
his life, though. Being alone in a bed after lights-out just sucked, and it had kept him awake nights for a  
long time after he moved in.

Ray held on to the hand in his when Ben would have pulled it back, and rubbed his cheek against it.  
Being in bed with Ben made the whole room different. It couldn't possibly be any less dark in here tonight  
than it was on any other night, but it felt like it. There was a whole lot less space in the bed, but the room  
itself seemed bigger, like it expanded when Ben was here.

"I'm sorry." The only thing better than Ben's focused, intense lecture voice had to be this one -- close,  
gentle, just for him. The kind you'd only hear at midnight. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's okay." Ray found himself answering in the same quiet voice. Nobody was around, nobody  
could hear. Whatever they said here or did here was just for them. It left the rest of the world far away, like  
his bed was an island of their own. He grinned around a yawn. "I don't mind waking up with you. In fact, I  
kinda like it. Maybe like to do more of it some time."

Ben nodded at their clasped hands. "I'll admit to hopes that it might become . . . habit-forming."

"Guess you'll have to stay here for three weeks, then."

Amusement rippled under Ben's answer. "I suspect we might get bedsores if we stayed here for three  
weeks."

"Oh, I think we could move around a little." Ray grinned and kissed Ben's knuckle.

"Why three weeks?"

"Takes twenty-one days to make or break a habit, my friend. That's what they told me when I quit  
smoking. The first three, four times, anyhow."

"What did they tell you the last time?"

"They said, 'You got a spot on your left lung, we're not sure what it is.' "

"Ah. I can fully understand why that worked so well."

"Yeah." Ray cleared his throat. "It was nothin' in the end, but I decided not to take any more chances."

"I'm glad." Ben squeezed his hand. After a pause, he said, "And I'm glad that you, ah, decided to take a  
chance with -- now."

"Yeah, me too."

The kiss was innocent but curious, mouths closed, the goodnight kiss from the first date they never  
had. It made Ray feel warm all over, fresh and new, like a loaf of baking bread. They had their wild  
boinking on vacation, the honeymoon before the horse, but they never had . . . this. No careful learning  
touches, lips teaching lips. School was in session and Ray wanted an A. The vision that put in his head  
made him laugh, and even in his ears it surprised him, low and sultry.

Ben drew back, puzzled. "Is, ah, is something funny?"

"Yeah. Me. I'm a funny guy, Ben. Who knew I'd fall for a weirdo like you?" He could hear his own  
voice, sweet with smiles, and knew that Ben would reach over to touch his face, fingertips loving his  
cheekbone. Even with Stella, he'd never had this kind of happy. The fingertips moved lower, down his  
neck, and he knew that Ben could feel his blood pumping faster. They continued down, drawing designs on  
his clavicle, stroking his sternum.

Ray had no fucking idea how he remembered that crap from Human Phys; it just appeared in his head.  
Had to be a freak accident, because all he could think of was the loops and slants on his body where Ben's  
fingers had been. Bones were just ideas that floated under tingling lines. There was a story on his skin, and  
Ben was writing it. He wrote down and down and it was fucking War And Peace in words of one syllable  
love you I love you by the time he got to Ray's cock, and Ray was whimpering, out of his mind.

"You know what I want, Ray." Pure midnight.

"Uh. Uh, yeah, I know." But he didn't have a clue, all he knew was what he wanted, which was  
anything that Ben was willing to give him. It finally penetrated fuck, I can't believe I even thought that  
when Ben took his hand and squeezed some gooey crap on his fingers. It was cold, and Ray moaned. Ben  
actually had to help him rub his fingers together to warm it up.

"You want to make love to me, don't you, Ray?" Ben was somewhere in between seductive and  
worried.

He thought that was what they were doing already. "I want . . . " He could get this out, it was  
important, it was bigger than the both of them, no, that was a different stupid movie -- "I want you."

He could touch Ben's relief, it was that real. He could touch Ben's muscular arm, the strength of his  
shoulders, the hollow under his hipbone. He could touch this man anywhere he wanted to; Ben wouldn't say  
no. But Ben was already turning over, turning his back to Ray, offering something Ray didn't know what to  
do with.

"I." Go ahead, admit it. "I don't know how."

"Ray." Ben rolled back over and Ray knew damned well the guy was laughing at him again. Then,  
"Ray." Black as sin. The kiss that pressed against his lips promised more than anyone could possibly  
deliver. When he wound his arms around Ben, he smeared goo all over Ben's back. He had to join in when  
Ben laughed this time.

"Ray, I don't care if you want to coat me head to toe, but in this case, a bit lower might be better."

Ben slippery, Ben dunked, Ben wet. Salt water, bouyant and moving. Another kiss, and it was his own  
dick that was poking him in the belly. More cold goo was squeezed onto his fingers.

"I trust you'll use this where it will do the most good."

How much did he love to be teased by this guy? Enough to choke him up, it looked like. He managed  
to get out an "Mhmm," but Ben leaned in for another kiss, and he lost anything he might have said. Ben's  
tongue was in the way.

"Even here, you can trust your instincts, Ray. Especially here." Ben pulled back with a small smile,  
white teeth showing in the room's dim light.

Ray watched as he smoothly turned over. The play of hard-worked muscle and bone under that soft  
skin almost hypnotized him. Ben's body didn't so much reflect the dim light as he absorbed it, and it came  
back out from inside him. The slope and stretch of Ben's back pulled him down like a whirlpool; Ray's  
mouth, pressed desperately against a flat shoulderblade, was the only thing that saved him from going  
under completely.

Instinct, he had to go on instinct. He knew that, he understood it. Reflexes. In and out. Couldn't be  
easier. Body memory, like when he played hockey as a kid. Put the lube where it would do the most good.  
Okay. Ray slid his coated fingers into the crease. The goal was, if not in sight, at least in mind.

Except when he got there, he got lost. For good reason, since what was right under his nose was Ben's  
neck. Ben's back. Ben's ass. It was all so delicious that while he was trying to apply the goo, he had to  
spend time licking and petting, yeah, and biting, his way downward. He pushed at the tiny ripples in Ben's  
flesh with one hand, fingers roaming, and sank his teeth into the back of Ben's neck. Ben answered with a  
groan.

Asshole was an insult. He'd said it himself a million times, in good faith. All this while, he never  
knew. Assholes were good things, really good. They had to be good when a touch there could make Ben  
moan, make him rut into the sheets. It was . . . almost scary, what he could do.

Shaky-voiced and panting, Ben coaxed, "Put . . . your fingers inside me. Please."

Ray sucked a kiss onto Ben's spine, letting his tongue trail along the knobs, blowing softly on the lick-  
line. "Polite. That's nice." He lapped along Ben's waist, a ticklish spot that made his quarry squirm. "But,  
y'know, I'm. Uh. Busy here." It was fun to do a little teasing for a change. He continued to work his way  
around to the front, giving all sensitive body parts some attention, ending with a few tight strokes to Ben's  
cock.

"Ah! Oh, Ray, I . . . I don't want to . . ."

"Okay, okay." He gave one final bite -- not hard, but one he knew Ben would feel -- to that perfect ass,  
and put his fingers . . .

. . . where they'd do the most good.

He was surprised at how easy they went in, and he was startled by the low grunt. He stopped still, but  
Ben picked up where he left off, moving back on his fingers. Holy wow, he really wanted this. There was  
something sexy, too, about how this was just like Ben himself -- a little uptight on the outside, but easy on  
the inside. Easy for Ray. Easy and smooth and a big fan of what was happening right here. Ben was even  
going a little crazy, jerking and making faint high-pitched noises, and that covered everything important  
about him.

"Ray, Ray." A gasp for breath, and then, "Ray."

"Yeah." He was breathing pretty fast himself. "I gotcha."

Slimy fingers on the condom pack; he couldn't get it open. Dammit! Wasn't thinking about the slick,  
and he had to tear it open with his teeth. For a second he thought he was trying to put it on upside-down in  
the near dark, but then he sighed in relief as it slid neatly on. A little extra jelly and he was ready to roll,  
more than ready. He only hoped Ben was ready. He was leaning up for a kiss when Ben flipped over onto  
his back, and almost caught an elbow in the mouth.

Ray, on his hands and knees, stared. It was one more check-off in the long list of stuff he couldn't help  
doing since Ben had walked through his door; hell, into his life. Looking at him spread out over the bed,  
using up all the room with his long arms and legs, one knee propped up, Ray had to cough just to get his  
heart started again. Ben, in all his glory, white skin nearly glow-in-the-dark, was very happy to see him.

He talked when he could get his mouth to work. "You, you don't want to?"

Big smile, happy all over. "I do."

" . . . oh. Oh!"

With a move from Ben that would have done credit to a pro wrestler, Ray found himself flat on his  
back. Ben leaned down and gave him another one of those kisses, mucho-mojo, no prisoners, tongue not  
optional -- the kind that made Ray rev like a V-8.

"If I want something done right, I'll do it myself," Ben announced, pecking kisses against Ray's  
swollen lips with a sly, goading look.

Ray wanted to make some snotty comment, but he couldn't think of one, so he had to make do. "I'll get  
you for that." His words didn't quite carry the threat he was trying for.

"Yes. Yes, you will." Ben was still smiling when he slid down onto Ray, but it vanished instantly. His  
eyes widened, and he took several deep breaths through his nose, blowing them out through his mouth. The  
breath hissed through his teeth. That, and the equal but opposite feel of Ben squeezing hot and tight around  
him, made Ray babble.

"You okay? 'Cause, because-- " He tried to squirm away.

"Don't." Ben grabbed his arms and held him in place. Ray thought he might leave bruises. "Give me a  
moment."

When Ben relaxed around him again, Ray let out a big breath, too. As long as the guy wasn't freaking,  
or hurting, they were good. There were waves of happy all over his body, all over his skin, moving out like  
rings on a puddle from where Ben was being King Of Ray's Cock. He could feel the strange heat of blood  
coming to his chest, his neck, his face.

He tried to lie back and think of England, but it didn't work. He didn't give a shit about England.  
Worse yet, all he knew about England was . . . Big Ben. He choked down an almost hysterical laugh. His  
dick wanted to fuck, and he was all over that; being inside Ben's body was the best thing he'd ever felt. If  
Ben didn't like it, Ray would be screwed. Or. Not screwed.

It was good; oh, holy fucking fuck was it good. With only this tiny little taste, he wanted to drive into  
Ben so bad he couldn't see straight. He wanted to pound into that warm welcome with everything he had;  
he wanted to take everything Ben had. Now that he knew it was this good, he'd have to give it up, too; fair  
was fair. But. Worry about that later. For the time being, he did his damnedest not to do . . . anything. He  
clenched down down on the urge to slam up up up until his butt muscles hurt.

When Ben slowly sank further, they both gasped, and looking up at Ben's face made his stomach twist.  
It was like watching a bottle rocket soar into the sky and go off. All that concentration was turned inward,  
with all the wonder lighting up the outside. Then he was moving -- not fast, but with almost more intensity  
than Ray could stand.

With every rise and fall he stripped another layer off Ray, the smartass and the uncertainty and the  
confusion of looking for something he wasn't sure existed. The last one was easy, because he knew that  
thing was here right now. He was looking at it, and it came in a package of sweat-stained muscle and raw  
hunger. He could feed that hunger, feed it until it was satisfied. All that was left of him, here in bed with  
Ben, was purpose.

Ben was leaning on his chest, fingers spread wide, eyes burning into Ray's. He took Ben's hands and  
began to move. Groaning, Ben lifted again, balanced against Ray's hands, and they met each other on his  
way down with a smack, both of them crying out.

Ben's quads were putting in some serious endurance work, but the bunch and flex of his thighs was  
just a shadow of what was going on around Ray's cock. Sex was sex; even bad sex was better than most  
everything else, but this? This was the big payoff for every time he'd ever pulled the lever. It made  
everything and everyone before Ben into chump change in the street in front of Fort Knox.

With his head thrown back, the too-long hair curling over his forehead, Ben looked free, joyful,  
reckless. He was dazzling.

Ray thrust up again and again, wanting more than anything to keep that look on Ben's face. That  
beautiful cock was hard against Ben's belly, shiny with need. He wanted to touch it, had to, had to put his  
hand around it and stroke that superfine skin while Ben's moans shook them both. It was hard to catch the  
beat; he wasn't any too with it, but it didn't seem to matter. Ben's cock was so alive in his hand, so hot that  
it almost begged for his touch.

He couldn't hold out much longer. Not with heaven around his dick and Ben, Angel Of Sex, moaning  
the place down. The ripples of sensation on his skin were going back the other way now, from the  
fingertips on in, all moving toward the same place, to where Ben was, to where they were together.

Everything went back to Ben. They needed to be together. Ray was real, Ray was ready, Ben had to  
see that. Ray only hoped he could convince him. He tried to say it, but what came out was a bunch of  
garbled mush, and then he couldn't think anymore. All he could do was float on the waves as Ben leaned in  
to take his mouth the way he was taking his cock, completely and utterly, no holding back. It was enough.  
More than.

Ray's body convulsed with pleasure, and he pulled too hard, or maybe it was just right. Their kiss  
muffled Ben's shout, but he felt it all the way to the backs of his knees. He felt everything: the surge of  
blood in his veins, the heat of Ben's load hitting his chest, the shock of joy as he shoved up hard one last  
time and came.

Later, when he had enough coordination to try shifting the guy off his chest so he could breathe, Ben  
seemed to wake up a little. He was so incredible with his eyes barely open, dark blue and bottomless, half  
asleep, trying to talk with that kiss-me mouth. Ray ran shaking fingers through Ben's sweat-clumped hair,  
pushing it off his forehead.

"I . . . Ray, I . . . " Ben tried to clear his throat, but it seemed like he hardly had enough energy to get  
the job done. Ray's inside smile crept out onto his face. Pretty damn cool how tough it was for the guy to  
talk. "This is . . . it's difficult to put into words."

Yeah, since you splattered your brains all over my chest, he wanted to say. Gloat, really. But he didn't,  
because it occurred to him that whatever Ben wanted to say might not be something to gloat over. Ray shut  
his mouth.

"I've never . . . I mean, I've been to Chicago, but that's not . . . " Eyes closed, he was working a lot  
harder for this than Ray could figure out. Finally Ben gave up, with as much of a shrug as he could get  
laying half on top of Ray. "I've never been here." Okay, that was for sure true. "In a solely physical sense."

Ben opened his eyes all the way and stared at him earnestly, making Ray want to put him and Kiki in  
the same room alone together and see which one came out alive.

"And yet -- I don't quite understand, but I feel as if I belong here."

Ray pulled Ben back onto his chest. He didn't care that much about breathing. And he'd never, ever,  
call anybody an asshole again.

 

They'd both crashed hard, but when Ray's body decided air was the better part of valor, he came up  
from half-asleep and tried to scoot out from under without waking Ben. It didn't work. As he scrunched up  
his face and tried to stifle a yawn, Ben was so damn cute that Ray was glad it didn't work.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself."

His fingers just naturally tucked in between Ben's, and since he was awake now anyway, the six brain  
cells he had left were duking it out over the big question: shower, or post-sex coma? Both options were  
looking damned fine.

Like a good all-wheel suspension, his mouth managed to work independently. "I missed you a lot. Life  
pretty much sucked without you." He thought about that for a minute, and remembered there had been at  
least one compensation. "Although I did get a dog."

There was a pause. Ben must have gone with the coma, but he crawled back to consciousness long  
enough to mutter an answer. "Good to know where I stand."

"Freak." Ray squeezed the hand. "I was worried. About you, y'know? I was worried that you'd lose it  
from being attacked and locked up. Thought you might have flashbacks or something."

"Of Managua?" Ray could hear the surprise, even in Ben's half-asleep mumble.

"Well, yeah. Prison. I mean, having somebody beat you up, tie you up, try to kill you. Drugs. Little  
details like that."

"Ray, believe me, the two experiences were nothing alike."

"Nothing?" He edged a thumb along Ben's collarbone. There was a lump under the skin where the  
bone hadn't knitted right.

"Nothing whatsoever." Ben rolled over, pulling Ray's hand, arm, and self with him. Ray took the  
opportunity to spoon up against Ben's ass. "This time, I was with you."

On the wall, the shadow of the broken window blinds was fanned out like a palm frond in the orange  
glow from the streetlight. He was never going to fix them. Not now, when he knew they were his own  
personal palm tree in disguise. Ray pressed his nose into soft, dark hair. Even in dirty, stinky Chicago, even  
in the wallow of sex that was now his bed, Ben still had that wild wind and sea smell. He inhaled as much  
as he could and let it out slow, feathering the little hairs at the back of Ben's neck. The steady in and out of  
Ben's breathing, as Ray surrendered to sleep, sounded like the ocean, far away.


End file.
